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THE     t 


BOY'S    BOO. 

CONSISTING  OF  ORIGINAL  ARTICLES 

IN 

PROSE    AND    POETRY. 

BY 
MRS.    L.    H.    SIGOURNEY. 


God  keep  and  strengthen  thee  from  sin. 

God  crown  thy  life  with  peace  and  joy, 
And  give  thee  grace  to  enter  in 

The  City  of  His  rest,— my  boy." 

MARY  HOWITT 


NEW  YORK: 
TURNER,  HUGHES,  &  HAYDEIV, 

NO.    10  JOHN   ST. 
RALEIGH,  N.  C.-TURNER  &  HUGHES. 

1843. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

rJurden.... 147 

The  Prisoner's  Question  149 

The  Farmer    151 

Agriculture  .  156 

Birds  in  Autumn  157 

The  Indian  King  159 

The  Prayer  on  Bunker's  Hill 165 

Jotham's  Parable 167 

Dr.  Herman  Boerhaave     170 

Evening  Thought  ..    175 

The  Death  of  the  Righteous    176 

J)r.  Benjamin  Franklin , 177 

The  Longest  Day 187 

Children  bringing  Water  from  a  Spring  188 

Hon.  Roger  Sherman    189 

David's  Elegy  on  Jonathan 194 

The  Sea  Boy 196 

Rev.  John  Frederick  Oberlin  198 

First  Winter  Morning 309 

On  the  Admission  of  Michigan  into  the  Union, 211 

The  Storm  at  Sea 213 

Hon.  Stephen  Van  Rensselaer    215 

New- Year's  Morning    224 

The  Chair  of  Uncas 225 

The  Crop  of  Acorns 227 

The  Doves  229 

The  War-Spirit 232 

The  Charter  Oak  233 

Peath  of  an  Aged  Man   235 

The  Doom  of  Uzziah    238 

The  Orphan ...  240 

The  Old  Man 243 

Close  of  Life 246 


PREFACE 


Exciting  stories,  have,  during  our  own  times,  en- 
tered widely  into  the  literature  for  unfolding  minds. 
Yet,  among  reflecting  parents  and  teachers,  who  feel 
that  a  right  education  is  peculiarly  the  safe-guard  of 
our  country,  there  is  an  increasing  demand  for  works 
founded  on  solidity  of  principle,  and  which  present 
knowledge,  and  morality,  without  the  disguise  oi 
fiction. 

In  compliance  with  this  demand,  the  present  vol- 
ume has  been  prepared,  containing  lessons  of  re- 
publican simplicity, — of  the  value  of  time, — of  the  re- 
wards of  virtue,  of  the  duties  of  this  life,  as  they 
take  hold  on  the  happiness  of  the  next.  These  ob- 
jects have  been  kept  in  view,  in  the  composition 
both  of  its  prose  and  poetry,  and  throughout  the  va- 
ried forms  of  narrative,  biography,  and  didactic  es- 
say. 

Though  adapted  by  the  nature  of  its  plan,  and  di- 
vision, as  a  reading-book  for  schools,  it  does  not 
limit  itself  to  the  sphere  of  an  assistant,  in  the  art 
of  Elocution.  The  writer  hopes  that  it  may  sometimes 


IV  PREFACE. 

be  a  companion  of  the  child,  who,  loving  truth  for 
its  own  sake,  voluntarily  devotes  a  part  of  his  lei- 
sure, to  what  is  useful,  and  sits  in  the  long  winter 
evenings,  reading  aloud  to  his  mother,  by  the  quiet 
fireside. 

Sons  of  my  people, — this  book  has  been  con- 
structed for  you,  carefully,  and  with  pleasure.  May 
it  bear  on  its  pages,  a  blessing  to  you,  who  now,  un- 
der the  discipline  of  education,  will  so  soon  emerge 
from  its  tutelage,  to  take  the  places  of  the  fathers. 
Then,  may  you  stand  forth,  amid  the  green  vales, 
and  broad  prairies  of  our  native  land,  like  the  olive, 
cheering  and  enriching  those  around, — like  the  oak, 
transmitting  its  honours  to  a  future  age — like  the 
blessed  tree,  *  whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of 
the  nations." 

L.  H.  S. 

Hartford  Conn. 
March  1st,  1842. 


THE 


BOY'S     BOOK- 


KNOWLEDGE. 

There  has  never  been  a  period,  in  the  history  of 
the  world,  when  knowledge  was  so  highly  prized,  as 
in  the  present  age.  Neither  has  there  ever  been  a 
country,  where  it  was  so  universally  diffused,  as  in 
our  own.  Some  degree  of  it,  is  surely  within  the 
reach  of  every  person. 

Have  you  ever  thought  much  of  the  evils  of  igno- 
rance 1  Have  you  observed  how  narrow  and  preju- 
diced the  uneducated  mind  becomes  1 — how  credu- 
lous and  superstitious  1 — how  prone  to  mistakes, 
with  regard  to  the  nature  of  duty,  and  the  nature  of 
happiness  7 

The  poor  Burman's  highest  idea  of  happiness,  is 
to  be  turned  into  a  buffalo,  and  lie  down  in  a  field 
»f  high  grass,  where  there  are  no  musquetoes  to  an- 
noy. "We  want  nothing  but  healthy  bodies,  and 
plenty  of  seals  to  eat,"  said  the  Greenlanders  to  the 
first  missionaries  who  sought  them  out.    Ignorance 


8  THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 

i 

augments  the  value  of  the  things  of  sense,  and  sub- 
stitutes low  appetites  for  the  pleasures  of  intellect. 

A  right  education  is  not  merely  the  reading  of 
many  books,  but  the  ability  of  making  knowledge 
useful  to  ourselves,  and  others.  It  is  not  simply  to 
acquire  influence  over  our  fellow-creatures,  but  to 
make  that  influence  subservient  to  moral  excellence 
and  piety. 

To  have  a  knowledge  of  our  duties  to  mankind, 
and  not  perform  them,  is  injustice  ;  to  endeavour  to 
discharge  them  to  mankind,  and  not  to  God,  is  im- 
piety. So  that  a  good  education,  comprises  right 
motives,  as  well  as  good  conduct. 

Some  minds  have  found  such  delight  in  knowledge 
that  they  have  conquered  many  obstacles,  and  en- 
dured great  hardships,  to  obtain  it.  They  have 
never  felt  that  they  paid  more  than  it  was  worth. 
Let  us  select  a  few  such  instances ;  for  a  philosopher 
has  truly  said,  that  we  "  yield  to  facts,  when  we  re- 
sist speculation." 

Professor  Heyne,  a  German,  was  so  fond  of  clas- 
sical studies,  that  he  pursued  them  for  more  than 
thirty  years,  while  struggling  with  the  deepest  pov- 
erty. His  father  was  a  weaver,  with  a  large  family, 
and  so  poor  as  often  to  be  in  want  of  comfortable 
food. 

Heyne  made  great  exertions  to  support  himself 
at  the  University,  which  he  entered  with  only  a  few 
shillings  in  his  pocket,  and  so  anxious  was  he  not  to 
waste  his  time,  that  he  seldom  allowed  himself  to 
sleep  more  than  two  whole  nights  in  the  week. 

His  love  of  learning  sustained  him  in  cheerfulness, 
amid  the  most  painful  exertions.    When  his  merit 


KNOWLEDGE.  9 

became  known,  he  was  rewarded  by  being  made 
Professor  of  Eloquence  in  the  university  of  Gottin- 
gen.  This  honour  he  retained  for  many  years,  and 
was  distinguished  both  by  his  lectures  and  publica- 
tions. 

Castalio,  who  translated  the  Bible  into  Latin,  was 
the  son  of  poor  peasants,  and  reared  by  them,  in  the 
midst  of  privations,  among  the  mountains  of  Dau- 
phiny.  Avaigo,  an  Italian  poet,  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  though  working  with  his  father,  at  the  trade 
of  a  blacksmith,  till  he  was  eighteen  years  old, 
found  means  to  cultivate  his  genius,  and  to  obtain 
learning. 

The  celebrated  Ben.  Jonson,  was  a  brick-layer 
and  mason.  While  he  worked  with  his  trowel,  he 
carried  a  book  in  his  pocket,  and  the  labour  of  his 
hands  did  not  hinder  the  improvement  of  his  mind. 
"  Let  not  those  blush,  said  the  historian  Fuller,  who 
have,  but  those  who  have  not  a  lawful  calling,  by 
which  to  earn  their  bread." 

Thomas  Simpson,  an  able  English  scholar,  Pro- 
fessor of  Mathematics  and  Fellow  of  the  Royal  So- 
ciety, was  the  son  of  a  weaver.  His  father,  who  took 
him  into  his  shop,  when  a  boy,  and  tried  to  repress 
his  fondness  for  reading,  at  length  forbade  him 
even  to  open  a  book,  and  insisted  upon  his  confining 
himself  the  whole  day  to  the  loom. 

But  Thomas  Simpson  could  not  give  up  his  love 
of  knowledge.  So  his  father  accused  him  of  obstina- 
cy, and  turned  him  out  of  his  house.  He  maintain- 
ed himself  for  a  while,  in  a  neighbouring  town,  by 
working  at  his  trade,  and  thought  himself  very  hap- 


10  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

py,  to  be  able  to  devote  a  few  spare  moments  to  a 
book  whenever  he  could  borrow  one. 

He  was  young  when  he  went  to  London,  and  en- 
tered that  great  city,  an  entire  stranger  and  without 
a  single  letter  of  recommendation.  Neither  had  he; 
any  thing  of  value,  about  his  person,  but  a  manu- 
script of  his  own,  on  Fluxions.  This  was  pro- 
nounced superior  to  any  other  treatise  on  that  sub- 
ject in  the  English  language,  and  his  proficiency  in 
science,  gained  him  high  reputation  and  respect. 

William  Hutton,  was  the  son  of  a  wool-comber,  in 
Derby,  England.  "More  than  once,  he  says,  my 
poor  mother,  with  an  infant  on  her  knee,  and  others 
hanging  about  her,  has  fasted  a  whole  day,  and 
when  food,  at  last  came,  divided  her  share  among 
them." 

From  his  seventh,  to  his  fourteenth  year,  he  work- 
ed diligently  in  a  silk-mill,  and  was  then  bound  ap- 
prentice to  a  stocking- weaver.  Under  all  these  dis- 
couragements, he  cherished  the  love  and  pursuit  of 
knowledge.  He  became  at  length,  a  respected 
member  of  the  Antiquarian  Society,  and  author  of 
the  History  of  Birmingham,  and  other  publications. 

Edmund  Stone,  was  born  in  Scotland,  more  than 
a  hundred  years  since.  His  father  was  gardener,  to 
the  duke  of  Argyle.  One  day,  this  nobleman  found 
on  the  grass,  a  volume  of  "  Newton's  Principia,"  in 
Latin,  and  was  much  astonished  to  find  that  any  of 
his  labourers  could  read  it. 

Being  told  that  it  belonged  to  his  gardener's  son,  a 
youth   of  eighteen,  he  said,  "  how  came  you   to  a 
knowledge  of  these  things'!"     Edmund  replied,  "a  ! 
servant  taught  me  to  read,  ten  years  ago.    Does  one  1 

r 


KNOWLEDGE.  11 

need  any  thing  more,  than  the  twenty-six  letters,  in 
order  to  learn  every  thing  else  that  he  wishes?" 

Then  the  Duke,  still  more  surprised,  sat  down  on 
a  bank,  and  received  from  young  Edmund  the  fol- 
lowing account.  "  When  the  masons  were  at  work 
upon  your  house,  I  first  learned  to  read.  I  observed 
that  the  architect  used  a  rule,  and  compasses,  and 
made  calculations. 

"I  inquired  what  was  the  meaning  and  use  of  such 
things,  and  was  informed  that  there  was  a  science 
called  arithmetic.  I  learned  it.  Then,  I  was  told 
there  was  another  science,  called  Geometry.  I 
procured  the  necessary  books,  and  learned  Geome- 
try. 

"By  reading,  I  found  there  were  good  books,  on 
both  these  sciences,  in  Latin.  I  bought  a  dictionary 
and  learned  Latin.  Then  I  understood,  that  there 
were  good  books  of  the  same  kind,  in  French.  I 
bought  a  dictionary,  and  learned  French. 

"It  seems  to  me,  that  when  we  know  the  twenty- 
six  letters  of  the  alphabet,  we  may  learn  what  we 
please."  Edmund  Stone,  was  afterwards  well 
known  as  an  author,  and  published  a  number  of 
mathematical  works. 

In  our  own  country,  are  many  instances  of  those 
who  have  resolutely  sought  knowledge,  amid  diffi- 
culties and  obstacles,  and  while  earning  a  support, 
by  the  labour  of  their  hands.  Governor  Everett,  in 
an  eloquent  speech  on  the  subject  of  education, 
communicated  a  remarkable  letter  from  Mr.  Elihu, 
Burritt,  a  blacksmith,  of  which  the  following  is  an 
extract. 

"I  was  the  youngest  of  many  brethren,  and  my 


12  THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 

parents  were  poor.  My  means  of  education  were 
limited  to  a  district  school.  These  again  were  cir- 
cumscribed by  my  father's  death,  which  deprived 
me,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  of  the  scanty  opportunities 
which  I  had  previously  enjoyed. 

"  A  few  months  after  his  decease,  I  apprenticed 
myself  to  a  blacksmith,  in  my  native  village. 
Thither  I  carried  a  taste  for  reading,  which  I  had 
previously  acquired  through  the  medium  of  a  so- 
ciety library  :  all  the  historical  works  in  which,  I 
had  at  that  time  perused. 

'  At  the  expiration  of  a  little  more  than  half  my 
apprenticeship,  I  conceived  the  idea  of  studying 
Latin.  Through  the  assistance  of  an  elder  brother 
who  had  obtained  a  collegiate  education  by  his  own 
exertions,  I  completed  Virgil  during  the  evenings  of 
one  winter. 

"  After  devoting  some  time  to  Cicero,  and  a  few 
other  Latin  authors,  I  commenced  Greek.  It  was 
now  necessary,  that  I  should  devote  every  hour  of 
day-light,  and  a  part  of  the  evening,  to  the  duties  of 
my  apprenticeship. 

"  Still,  I  carried  my  Greek  grammar  in  my  hat, 
and  often  found  a  moment,  while  heating  some  large 
iron,  when  I  could  place  my  book  before  me,  against 
the  chimney  of  my  forge,  and  go  through  with  the  con- 
jugation of  a  verb  unperceived  by  my  fellow-ap- 
prentices. 

"At  evening,  I  sat  down  unassisted  and  alone,  to 
the  Iliad  of  Homer,  twenty  books  of  which, 
measured  my  progress,  in  that  language,  during  the 
winter.  I  next  turned  to  the  modern  languages,  and 
was  much  gratified  to  find,  that  my  knowledge  of 


KNOWLEDGE. 


13 


Latin  furnished  a  key  to  the  literature  of  most  of 
the  languages  of  Europe. 

"  This  circumstance  gave  a  new  impulse  to  the 
desire  of  acquainting  myself  with  the  philosophy,  de- 
rivation, and  affinity  of  the  different  European 
tongues.  I  could  not  be  reconciled  to  limit  myself 
to  a  few  hours,  after  the  arduous  labours  of  the 
day. 

"  I  therefore,  laid  down  my  hammer,  and  went  to 
New-Haven,  where  I  recited  to  native  teachers  in 
French,  Spanish,  German,  and  Italian.  I  returned 
at  the  expiration  of  two  years  to  the  forge,  bringing 
with  me  such  books  in  those  languages  as  I  could 
procure. 

"  When  I  had  read  these  books  through,  I  com- 
menced the  Hebrew  with  an  awakening  desire  of 
examining  another  field ;  and  by  assiduous  applica- 
tion I  was  enabled  in  a  few  weeks  to  read  this  lan- 
guage with  such  facility  that  I  allotted  it  to  myself 
as  a  task,  to  read  two  chapters  in  the  Hebrew  Bible 
before  breakfast  each  morning  ;  this  and  an  hour  at 
noon,  being  all  the  time  that  I  could  devote  to  myself 
during  the  day. 

"  After  becoming  somewhat  familiar  with  this  lan- 
guage, I  looked  around  me  for  the  means  of  initiating 
myself  in  the  rich  fields  of  oriental  literature,  and 
to  my  deep  regret  and  concern,  I  found  my  progress 
in  this  direction  hedged  up,  by  the  want  of  requisite 
books. 

"I  immediately  began  to  devise  means  of  obvi- 
ating this  obstacle ;  and,  after  many  plans,  I  con- 
cluded to  seek  a  place  as  a  sailor  on  board  some 
ship  bound  to  Europe,  thinking  in  this  way  to  have 
2 


14  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

opportunities  of  collecting  at  different  ports,  such 
works  in  the  modern  and  oriental  languages  as  I 
found  necessary  for  this  object. 

"I  left  the  forge  and  my  native  place,  to  carry 
this  plan  into  execution.  I  travelled  on  foot  to  Bos- 
ton, a  distance  of  more  than  a  hundred  miles,  to  find 
some  vessel  bound  to  Europe.  In  this  I  was  disap- 
pointed, and  while  revolving  in  my  mind  what  steps 
to  take,  accidentally  heard  of  the  American  Anti- 
quarian Society  in  Worcester. 

"  I  immediately  bent  my  steps  towards  this  place. 
I  visited  the  hall  of  the  American  Antiquarian  So- 
ciety, and  found  here  to  my  infinite  gratification,  such 
a  collection  of  ancient,  modern,  and  oriental  languages 
as  I  never  before  conceived  to  be  collected  in  one  place, 
and,  upon  evincing  a  desire  to  examine  some  of 
these  rich  and  rare  works,  I  was  kindly  invited  to 
an  unlimited  participation  in  all  the  benefits  of  this 
noble  institution. 

"  Availing  myself  of  the  kindness  of  the  directors, 
I  spent  about  three  hours  daily  at  the  hall,  which, 
with  an  hour  at  noon,  and  about  three  in  the  even- 
ing, made  up  the  portion  of  the  day  which  I  appro- 
priated to  my  studies,  the  rest  being  occupied  in  ar- 
duous, manual  labour.  Through  the  facilities  af- 
forded by  this  institution,  I  have  been  able  to  add 
so  much  to  my  previous  acquaintance  with  the  an- 
cient, modern,  and  oriental  languages,  as  to  be  able  to 
read  upwards  of  fifty  of  them,  with  more  or  less  fa- 
cility," 

Is  there  not  something  like  sublimity,  in  the  per- 
severance by  which  knowledge  is  acquired,  amid 
difficulty  and  discouragement?    It  surely  must  give 


KNOWLEDGE.  15 

great  delight,  to  be  able  to  uphold  the  mind  under  such 
severe  exertions,  as  have  been  exhibited,  in  the  va- 
rious examples,  of  which  we  read  and  hear. 

The  possession  of  knowledge,  should  lead  the 
young  to  adopt  high  and  noble  motives  of  action. 
The  ancient  republic  of  Sparta,  had  an  interesting 
custom,  which  was  calculated  to  produce  such  a  re- 
sult. 

On  a  certain  day,  the  inhabitants  formed  a  pro- 
cession, divided  into  three  companies,  the  old,  the 
middle-aged,  and  the  young.  Before  the  festive 
sports,  and  exercises  commenced,  the  hoary-headed 
men,  sent  from  their  ranks,  a  speaker,  who  said, 

"  We  have  been,  in  days  of  old, 
Wise,  generous,  brave  and  bold." 

Those,  in  the  prime  of  life,  then  put  forth  their 
orator,  who  addressing  the  aged  fathers  of  the  peo- 
ple, replied, 

"  That,  which  in  days  of  yore,  ye  were, 
We,  at  the  present  moment,  are." 

Lastly,  from  the  blooming  troop,  a  boy  advanced 
and  expressed  in  a  clear,  audible  tone,  the  spirited 
resolution 

"  Hereafter,  at  our  country's  call, 
We  promise  to  surpass  you  all." 

Dear  sons  of  my  country,  her  pride,  and  her  hope, 
catch  the  spirit  of  this  Spartan  promise.  If  you 
cannot  surpass  the  great  and  the  good,  who  have 
gone  before  you,  study  their  excellences,  walk  in 


16  THE   BOY'S   BOOK. 

their  footsteps,  and  God  give  you  grace  to  fill  their 
places  well,  when  they  are  mouldering  in  the  dust. 

Remember  that  knowledge  of  the  right  kind  leads 
to  humility.  The  fully  ripened  ear  of  wheat,  bends 
downward.  It  is  the  little  blade,  that  holds  itself 
up  so  pertly.  It  is  the  shallow  brook  that,  makes 
the  loudest  babbling  among  the  pebbles. 

True  learning  and  goodness  bow  the  soul  in  ado- 
ration, before  a  Being  of  perfect  wisdom.  The 
higher  you  ascend  in  knowledge,  said  a  philosopher, 
the  wilder  is  the  region  you  see  beyond  you  ; — Alps 
upon  Alps,  which  no  human  intellect  has  surmount- 
ed. 

Let  me  address  to  you  the  words  of  Alcuin,  who 
wrote  in  England,  more  than  a  thousand  years  ago : 
"  Oh  ye,  who  enjoy  the  youthful  age,  so  fitted  for 
your  lessons, — Learn  ! — Be  docile  ! — Acquire  the 
conduct  and  manners  so  beautiful  in  the  young. 

"  Let  your  early  days  be  adorned  with  the  study 
of  the  virtues,  that  your  age  may  shine  in  honour. 
For  remember,  that  the  passing  hour,  like  the  re- 
ceding wave,  never  returns  again." 


THE  OLD  SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Once,  in  travelling,  I  saw  a  very  old  building.  It 
appeared  to  be  falling  into  ruins.  No  smoke  issued 
from  its  broken  chimney.  No  foot  crossed  its  grass- 
grown  threshold.    The  casements  were  gone,  and 


THE  OLD   SCHOOL-HOUSE.  17 

through  their  vacant  places,  the  winds  whistled,  and 
the  rains  fell. 

I  asked,  "  what  is  this  building,  which  is  thus  suf- 
fered to  decay  3"  They  answered,  "a  school-house. 
But  a  part  of  its  materials  have  been  used  to  build 
a  better  one,  in  a  more  convenient  spot,  for  the  vil- 
lage children." 

So  I  paused  there,  a  little  time,  to  meditate.  And 
I  said  to  myself,  what  a  variety  of  scenes  may  have 
past,  within  these  tottering  walls.  Where  are  the 
teachers,  who  in  years  gone  by,  sat  in  the  chair  of 
state,  and  ruled,  and  gave  instruction  1 

In  yonder  corner,  perhaps,  was  a  low  bench,  for 
the  little  ones  conning  their  alphabet.  Those  little 
ones  have  grown  up, — grown  gray, — and  died.  The 
babes  whom  they  rocked  in  the  cradle,  have  shown 
the  same  tenderness  to  their  own  babes.  "One 
generation  passeth  away  and  another  cometh." 

Beneath  those  windows,  where  that  trim  old  syca- 
more looked  in,  with  all  its  show  of  green  leaves, 
waving  and  gossiping  in  the  breeze  of  summer,  I 
imagine  a  row  of  young  girls,  with  their  sunny 
locks,  knitting,  sewing,  or  listening  with  serious 
faces,  while  the  mistress  taught  them  what  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  them  to  know,  when  they  became  wo- 
men. 

The  snows  of  winter  seem  to  spread  around.  The 
frozen  pond  in  the  rear  of  the  school-house,  is  cov- 
ered with  boys.  The  clock  strikes  nine.  They 
hasten  to  their  school.  The  narrow  entry  rings 
with  the  jingle  of  their  skates,  as  they  throw  them 
down.  One  or  two,  who  love  play  better  than  study, 
approach  with  more  lingering  steps. 
2* 


18  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

Methinks,  I  see  their  ruddy  faces,  as  they  take 
their  seats.  The  master  raises  a  stern  eye  at  their 
clamour,  or  stifled  laughter,  and  commands  them  to 
write  their  copies,  or  attend  to  their  sums.  But  the 
treatise  of  arithmetic  is  thumbed,  and  the  grammar 
lesson  curled  into  dog's  ears,  by  those  whose  roving 
thoughts  are  among  their  winter  sports. 

Then  there  was  the  long  sigh  of  indolence,  and 
the  tears  of  such  as  were  punished.  And  there  was 
impatience  there,  and  ambition,  and  hope,  and  the 
kindlings  of  intellect,  and  the  delights  of  knowledge. 
The  master  endeavours  to  rule  each  for  their 
good,  as  the  wise  magistrate  restrains  the  people  by 
laws. 

I  fancy  that  I  behold  that  teacher  walking  home- 
ward, weary  and  thoughtful  when  the  day  was  done. 
He  felt  sadness  for  those  who  did  not  improve,  and 
over  those  who  did,  he  rejoiced  with  a  peculiar  love. 

Perhaps,  he  repeated  mournfully  the  words  of  the 
prophet,  "  I  have  laboured  in  vain,  I  have  spent  my 
strength  for  naught."  And  a  voice  from  heaven,  an- 
swered in  his  heart,  "  Yet  surely  thy  judgment  is 
with  the  Lord,  and  thy  work  with  thy  God." 

Old  school-house! — couldst  thou  speak,  I  doubt 
not  thou  wouldest  tell  me,  that  eminent  men  have 
been  nurtured  in  thee ;  ingenious  mechanics,  on 
whom  the  comfort  of  the  community  depends ;  ath- 
letic farmers,  laying  the  forest  low,  and  forcing  earth 
to  yield  her  increase  ;  physicians  whom  the  sick  suf- 
ferer blesses:  eloquent  lawyers,  wise  statesmen, 
holy  priests,  who  interpret  the  word  of  the  Al- 
mighty. 

I  wish  that  the  school-houses  in  our  country,  were 


THE    OLD    SCHOOL-HOUSE.  19 

more  commodious  and  tasteful  in  their  construction 
more  spacious,  and  airy,  surrounded  with  trees,  or 
beautified  with  shrubbery.  When  some  of  the  boys, 
who  read  this  book,  become  men,  perhaps  they  will 
build  such  a  school-house,  and  present  it  to  the 
children  of  their  town. 

But  it  is  not  so  important  in  what  kind  of  a  build- 
ing we  go  to  school,  as  what  we  learn,  and  how  we 
behave  while  we  are  there.  Very  good  things  have 
been  learned,  in  poor,  and  rude  edifices. 

There  was  once,  a  benevolent  man,  who  went  in 
a  ship,  to  the  great  island,  or  continent  of  New-Hol- 
land. He  found  multitudes  of  children,  growing  up 
neglected  and  ignorant.  He  wished  much  to  have 
them  taught    But  there  was  no  school-house. 

So  he  collected  them  under  a  spreading  tree, 
whose  branches  could  shelter  at  least  one  hundred, 
from  the  heat  of  the  sun.  He  hung  cards,  with 
painted  lessons  among  the  boughs.  And  there,  he 
taught  the  poor  colonists,  to  read,  to  spell,  and  to 
sing. 

There  are  very  beautiful  birds  in  that  country. 
Many  of  them  had  nests  in  this  large  tree.  So, 
there  they  were,  flying  about,  and  tending  their 
young,  while  the  children  were  learning  below;  and 
the  chirping  of  the  new-fledged  birds,  and  the  war- 
bling of  their  parents,  and  the  busy  voices  of  the 
children,  learning  to  be  good,  made  sweet  music  in 
the  heart  of  that  benevolent  man.  Did  they  not  as- 
cend, and  mingle  with  the  praises  of  angels,  around 
the  throne  1 


20  the  boy's  heading-book. 


TAKING  FOOD. 


One  of  the  strongest,  and  earliest  impulses  of  ani- 
mal nature,  is  to  seek  and  receive  food.  The 
chicken,  as  soon  as  it  bursts  its  shell,  partakes  the 
aliment  provided  for  it,  or  follows  in  the  footsteps 
of  its  mother,  to  share  in  what  she  may  find.  The 
unfledged  birds  open  their  mouths  wide,  to  take  the 
morsel,  brought  them  by  the  parent. 

Hunger  is  a  sensation,  appointed  by  our  Creator, 
to  warn  us  of  the  necessity  of  taking  that  nourish- 
ment, by  which  life  is  sustained.  He  has  given  us 
a  relish  for  food,  not  that  we  may  indulge  in  low  ap- 
petite, but  that  we  may  remember,  periodically,  to 
support  in  vigour,  the  body  which  he  has  so  won- 
derfully formed. 

Changes  are  wrought,  and  a  great  work  goes  on 
within  us,  whenever  we  take  even  so  little,  as  a  piece 
of  bread.  The  teeth  are  busy  with  it.  The  glands,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  mouth,  pour  out  moisture, 
to  aid  in  its  preparation.  The  tongue  exerts  itself 
from  tip  to  base,  to  press  it  into  the  oesophagus  j 
and  the  oesophagus  contracts,  to  deliver  it  to  the 
stomach. 

It  arrives  in  that  curious  laboratory, — a  new  sup- 
ply. The  pylorus,  or  lower  gate  of  the  stomach, 
closes,  that  it  may  not  escape,  before  the  proper 
forces  are  brought  to  act  upon  it.  The  circulation 
is  quickened,  and  a  great  portion  of  the  blood, 
leaves  the  surface  and  extremities,  and  concentrates 


TAKING    FOOD.  21 

in  the  neighbourhood.  Thither  also,  the  nervous  en- 
ergy repairs,  to  render  its  aid,  in  the  process. 

The  new  mass  of  food,  after  coming  in  contact 
with  the  gastric  juices,  assumes  the  consistence  of  a 
soft  poultice,  and  is  called  chyme.  Again,  being 
subjected  to  the  action  of  other  powers,  it  is  convert- 
ed into  chyle,  a  thin,  milky  substance.  Then  the  ab- 
sorbent vessels,  or  lacteals,  open  their  mouths,  and 
by  the  most  acute  philosophy,  receive  only  the  nu- 
tritious particles,  and  reject  the  rest. 

After  passing  through  these  millions  of  strainers, 
it  is  still  further  refined,  in  a  set  of  glands,  adapted 
to  that  purpose,  ere  it  is  poured  into  the  veins. 
Even  then,  another  process  awaits  it.  It  must  pass 
through  the  lungs,  and  be  purified,  by  meeting  the 
air,  before  it  is  fit  to  be  mingled  with  the  arterial 
blood,  and  distributed  throughout  the  whole  system. 

What  astonishing,  and  complicated  machinery,  is 
brought  to  bear,  upon  every  article  of  food  that  we 
receive.  By  an  action,  which  the  most  subtle  chem- 
istry cannot  explain,  or  the  most  powerful  solvent 
imitate,  it  is  reduced  to  elements,  of  which  science 
has  no  perfect  cognizance  and  made  ready  for  its 
several  claimants. 

In  about  four  hours,  from  the  time  of  its  reception, 
it  mingles  with  the  full  tide  of  the  veins,  and  goes  to 
visit  the  remotest  parts  of  this  wonderful  temple 
which  God  has  made.  If  the  body  is  in  health,  every 
part  of  it,  has  its  share,  in  the  piece  of  bread,  of 
which  we  have  spoken.  Not  a  single  hair  is  defraud- 
ed of  its  portion  of  this  added  wealth. 

Through  the  invisible  pores  of  the  skin  some  of  it 
escapes,  in  dampness,  like  a  sigh.    The  whole  sys- 


22  the  boy's  book. 

tern  rejoices  over  its  replenished  treasury.  Can  we 
think  of  the  wonderful  work  going  on  within  us,  and 
not  praise  the  Almighty  Architect?  or  forget  to 
pray  that  whether  "  we  eat  or  drink,  or  whatsoever 
we  do,  we  may  do  all  to  his  glory  V 

We  should  be  careful  not  to  injure  the  exquisite 
machinery,  thus  divinely  established,  either  by  ex- 
cess  in  food,  or  taking  that  which  is  of  an  injurious 
quality.  The  mechanism  of  the  stomach  should  be 
respected.  Five,  or  six  hours,  are  considered  a  cor- 
rect interval,  for  it  to  complete  one  set  of  opera- 
tions, to  rest,  and  to  be  ready  for  another. 

When  about  to  perfect  its  work,  if  it  is  interrupt- 
ed,— if  new  and  crude  matter,  or  intermediate  re- 
pasts of  fruit  and  cake,  are  pressed  into  it,  like  a 
labourer,  perplexed  by  extra  and  contradictory 
tasks,  it  will  be  overwearied,  and  the  great  object 
left  partially,  or  poorly  accomplished. 

It  is  ungrateful  to  disarrange  the  mechanism, 
which  does  so  much  for  us.  It  is  dangerous  to  per- 
sist in  offending  the  stomach,  for  it  revenges  itself 
through  the  nerves.  They  are  its  fast  friends, — al- 
ways at  its  command,  and  able  to  inflict  varied,  and 
terrible  pain. 

Proper  food,  and  drink,  taken  at  proper  periods, 
easily  assimilate  with  the  stomach,  when  the  organs 
of  digestion  are  in  health.  But  alcoholic  drinks,  for 
you  know  alcohol  is  a  poison,  are  not  like  other 
fluids,  regularly  digested. 

These  hurtful  stimulants  act  strongly  on  the  coats 
of  the  stomach,  and  then  break  through  the  absorb- 
ents, into  the  circulation,  with  a  mutinous  force, 
making  every  part  of  the  body  feel  the  effect.    Dis- 


TAKING    FOOD.  23 

sections,  and  chemical  analysis,  have  detected  alco- 
hol lurking  in  the  ventricles  of  the  brain,  and  the 
breath  of  the  miserable,  intemperate  man,  proves 
that  his  lungs  are  saturated  with  it. 

What  a  sin  it  is  to  injure,  by  any  voluntary  im- 
prudence, the  delicate  and  beautiful  economy  of  this 
mortal  frame.  Intemperance  in  drinking,  produces 
innumerable  ills  and  sins,  and  in  a  moral  and  re- 
ligious community,  is  stamped  with  the  abhorrence 
that  it  merits.  Gluttonous  eating,  is  a  contemptible 
habit,  unworthy  of  an  immortal  mind,  and  the 
cause  of  many  diseases. 

An  instructor  was  once  explaining  to  an  intelligent 
little  deaf  and  dumb  girl,  some  historical  facts;  and 
among  the  rest,  that  the  death  of  Henry  the  First,  of 
England,  was  occasioned  by  a  surfeit  on  lamprey- 
eels.  "  Was  he  foolish  V  she  asked,  in  her  language 
of  gesture.  "He  was  a  great  king,  and  a  wise 
man,"  was  the  answer. 

"A  wise  man,  and  eat  too  much  !"  she  exclaimed 
with  amazement.  "  No,  no ;  though  you  call  him 
a; great  king,  he  must  certainly  have  been  a  fool." 
fier  quick,  discriminating  mind,  taught  her,  that, 
notwithstanding  his  regal  fame,  he  literally  "  died, 
as  the  fool  dieth." 

The  time  spent  at  meals,  in  every  family,  is  of  im- 
portance. Assembled  round  the  table,  more  than  a 
thousand  times  a  year,  to  partake  of  the  bounties  of 
providence,  an  opportunity  is  given  for  the  cul- 
tivation of  good  manners,  good  feelings,  and  grate- 
ful remembrance  of  Him,  who  "  giveth  us  all  things 
richly  to  enjoy." 

The  ancient  Spartans,  though  not  favoured  with 


24  the  boy's  book. 

that  knowledge,  or  those  motives  of  action  which 
ennoble  Christians,  considered  their  stated  repasts 
as  seasons  for  impressing  useful  lessons.  There  the 
young  were  required  to  keep  silence,  and  listen  re- 
verently to  the  words  of  their  superiors  in  age. 

At  the  public  tables,  many  precepts  for  the  direc- 
tion of  life  were  inculcated.  Among  the  rest,  the 
boys  who  were  admitted  there,  were  taught  to  keep 
a  secret.  They  were  not  permitted  to  repeat,  in 
other  places,  the  conversation  which  they  there 
heard.  As  they  entered  to  take  their  seats,  a  man 
pointing  to  the  door,  said  with  solemnity,  "  nothing 
that  is  spoken  here,  goes  out  there." 

Better  lessons  than  were  known  to  the  Spartans,  it 
is  in  our  power  both  to  learn  and  to  teach.  And  yet 
not  to  report  the  familiar  conversation  of  the  table 
and  the  fireside,  is  often  a  necessary  injunction  to 
the  young ;  as  trouble  among  domestics,  and  even 
misunderstanding  between  friends,  have  sometimes 
arisen  from  no  higher  source. 

Correct  deportment  at  table,  is  of  consequence  to 
every  young  person.  They  should  consult  the  ac- 
commodation of  those  around  them,  and  the  comfort 
of  guests,  in  preference  to  their  own.  In  travelling, 
a  well-bred  person  is  readily  known,  by  his  man- 
ners at  the  table.  A  disposition  to  complain  of  de- 
ficiencies, or  a  habit  of  conversing  much  about  dif- 
ferent articles  of  food,  or  varieties  of  cookery, 
should  be  avoided. 

It  is  not  well  to  devote  too  much  thought  to 
"what  we  shall  eat,  or  what  we  shall  drink  ;"  or  to 
permit  the  gratification  of  the  palate  to  enter  into 
our  estimate  of  happiness.    Zeno,  with  his  simple 


TAKING   FOOD.  25 

diet  of  bread,  figs,  and  honey,  kept  his  spirits  cheer- 
ful, and  his  mind  clear  for  the  pursuits  of  philosophy 
to  the  age  of  more  than  ninety  years. 

We  should  be  temperate  in  eating  and  drinking 
for  the  sake  of  the  repose  of  quiet  sleep.  Both  the 
quantity  and  quality  of  what  we  receive  into  the 
stomach,  is  of  consequence.  Frightful  dreams 
come  more  frequently  from  indigestion,  than  from 
any  other  cause. 

Rich,  high-seasoned  dishes,  and  all  stimulating 
drinks,  should  be  avoided  by  the  young.  Neither,  is 
it  well,  to  form  the  habit  of  taking  food  between 
regular  meals,  or  before  retiring.  This  imposes  ex- 
tra labour  upon  the  stomach,  which  has  sufficient 
employment  to  convert  the  stated  repasts,  into 
heathful  nutriment. 

"  I  was  induced  to  eat  a  piece  of  rich  cake,  and 
to  drink  a  glass  of  wine,  just  before  retiring  to  bed, 
said  a  friend.  So  I  spent  most  of  the  night,  in 
climbing  sharp  cliffs,  and  hanging  over  black,  deep 
waters,  or  fighting  monsters  with  eyes  of  fire.  I 
tried  to  call  for  help,  but  could  utter  no  sound, — to 
fly,  but  my  limbs  were  powerless.  Then  I  knew  it 
was  the  cake  and  wine  oppressing  the  stomach,  and 
the  stomach  revenging  its  wrongs  on  me,  in  the 
shape  of  dreams." 

It  is  desirable  to  have  a  free  circulation  of  pure 
air,  in  your  sleeping  apartment, — not  to  be  over- 
burdened with  bed-clothes, — to  take  an  unconstrain- 
ed position,  with  the  face  entirely  uncovered, — and 
to  wash,  before  retiring ;  that  no  particle  of  dust,  or 
retained  perspiration,  may  obstruct  the  pores  of  the 
skin,  in  their  important  functions. 
3 


26  the  boy's  book. 

Another  rule  to  be  observed  in  order  to  procure 
pleasant  dreams,  is  to  go  to  rest,  with  a  cheerful, 
amiable  disposition,  and  a  heart  at  peace  with  all 
mankind.  Examine  the  actions  of  the  day?  and  for 
whatever  has  been  done  or  omitted  that  conscience 
regrets,  ask  in  penitent  prayer,  the  forgiveness  of 
your  Heavenly  Father,  and  commend  yourselves  to 
his  protection,  and  the  ministry  of  holy  angels. 

Food  taken  in  gladness  and  praise  is  salutary  to 
the  system.  It  does  good,  like  a  medicine.  Let  us 
ever  be  sensible  of  the  mercy  of  our  Heavenly  Father, 
in  preparing  such  a  wonderful  apparatus  for  its  recep- 
tion, and  in  so  connecting  that  reception  with  pleasure 
that  it  should  neither  be  neglected,  or  forgotten. 

Let  every  repast  be  preceded  by  an  invocation 
of  the  heart  to  God  for  his  blessing,  that  it  may  min- 
ister to  health,  vigour,  and  a  sound  mind,  and  that  all 
may  be  used  in  his  service,  for  the  good  of  others, 
and  for  our  own  eternal  happiness.  And  while  in 
cheerfulness,  and  with  gratitude,  we  comply  with  his 
appointment  to  nourish  this  curious  and  wonderful 
form  of  clay,  let  us  never  forget  that  we  should,  "  eat 
to  live, — but  not  live  to  eaL" 


TREATMENT  OF  ANIMALS. 

A  grateful  disposition,  should  teach  us  to  be 
kind  to  the  domestic  animals.  They  add  much  to 
our  comfort.    How  should  we  bear  the  winter's  cold 


TREATMENT   TO   ANIMALS.  27 

were  it  not  for  the  coat  of  wool,  which  the  sheep 
shares  with  us  1  How  would  journeys  be  performed, 
or  the  mail  be  carried,  or  the  affairs  of  government 
be  conducted,  without  the  aid  of  the  horse  ] 

Did  you  ever  think  how  much  the  comfort  of  fami- 
lies, depends  upon  the  cow?  Make  a  list  of  articles 
for  the  table,  or  for  the  sick,  to  which  milk  is  indis- 
pensable. Perhaps  you  will  be  surprised  to  find 
how  numerous  they  are. 

When  the  first  settlers  of  New  England,  came  to 
Plymouth,  in  the  winter  of  1620,  four  years  elapsedy- 
before  any  cows  were  brought  them.  During  all 
this  time,  their  bread  was  made  of  pounded  corn,, 
and  they  had  not  a  drop  of  milk  for  the  weaned  in- 
fant, or  the  sickly  child,  or  to  make  any  little  delica- 
cy for  the  invalid. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  in  the  colony,  when  a 
ship  arrived,  bringing  a  few,  small  heifers.  Re- 
member how  patiently  our  good  ancestors  endured 
their  many  hardships ;  and  when  you  freely  use  the 
milk  of  which  they  were  so  long  deprived,  be  kind 
to  the  peaceable,  orderly  quadruped,  from  whom  it 
is  obtained. 

Domestic  animals,  are  sensible  of  kindness,  and 
improved  by  it.  They  are  made  happier  and  more 
gentle,  by  being  caressed  and  spoken  to,  with  a 
pleasant  voice.  Food,  shelter,  needful  rest,  and 
good  treatment,  are  surely  due  to  them,  for  their 
many  services  to  man. 

The  Arab  treats  his  horse,  like  his  child,  and  the 
noble  animal  loves  him,  and  strains  every  nerve  to 
do  his  bidding.  I  have  seen  a  horse,  when  wearied 
with  heat,  and  travel,  erect  his  head,  and  show  evi- 


28  the  boy's  book. 

dent  signs  of  pleasure,  and  renew  his  labours,  with 
fresh  zeal,  if  his  master  patted  his  neck,  and  whis- 
pered with  a  kind  voice  into  his  ear. 

It  is  delightful  to  see  the  young  show  a  protecting 
kindness,  to  such  harmless  creatures,  as  are  often 
harshly  treated.  It  seems  difficult  to  say  why  th& 
toad  is  so  generally  singled  out  for  strong  dislike. 
Is  it  only  because  Nature  has  not  given  it  beauty  1 
Surely,  its  habits  are  innocent,  and  its  temper  gentle. 

The  scientific  gardeners  of  Europe,  encourage 
toads  to  live  in  their  gardens,  and  about  their  green- 
houses. They  find  them  useful  assistants  in  guard- 
ing their  precious  plants  from  insects.  So,  they 
wisely  make  them  allies,  instead  of  torturing  and 
destroying  them. 

A  benevolent  English  gentleman,  once  took  pains, 
to  reclaim  a  toad  from  its  timid  habits.  It  improved 
by  his  attentions.  It  grew  to  a  very  large  size,  and 
at  his  approach,  came  regularly  from  its  hole,  to 
meet  him,  and  receive  its  food. 

Ladies,  who  visited  the  garden,  sometimes  desired 
to  see  this  singular  favourite.  It  was  even  brought 
to  the  table,  and  permitted  to  have  a  desert  of  insects, 
which  it  partook,  without  being  embarrassed  by  the 
presence  of  company. 

It  lived  to  be  forty  years  old.  What  age  it  might 
have  attained,  had  it  met  with  no  accident,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say.  For  it  was  in  perfect  health, 
when  wounded  by  a  fierce  raven,  as  it  one  day  was 
coming  from  its  house,  under  the  steps  of  the  door, 
which  fronted  the  garden. 

The  poor  creature  languished  awhile,  and  then 
died,  and  the  benevolent  man  who  had  so  long  pro- 


TREATMENT   TO   ANIMALS.  29 

tected  it,  took  pleasure  in  relating  its  history,  and  in 
remembering  that  he  had  made  its  life  happy. 

Cruelty  to  animals,  is  disgraceful,  and  sinful.  If 
I  see  even  a  young  child,  pull  off  the  wings  of  an 
insect,  or  take  pains  to  set  his  foot  upon  a  worm,  I 
know  that  he  has  not  been  well-instructed,  or  else 
that  there  is  something  wrong  and  wicked  in  his 
heart. 

The  Emperor  Domitian  loved  to  kill  flies,  and  at 
last  became  a  monster  of  cruelty.  Benedict  Arnold, 
the  traitor,  when  he  was  a  boy,  liked  to  give  pain 
to  every  thing,  over  which  he  could  get  power. 

He  destroyed  bird's  nests,  and  cut  the  little  un- 
fledged ones  in  pieces,  before  the  eyes  of  their  ago- 
nized-parents. Cats  and  dogs,  the  quiet  cow,  and 
the  faithful  horse,  he  delighted  to  hurt  and  distress. 

I  do  not  like  to  repeat  his  cruel  deeds.  He  was 
told  that  they  were  wrong.  An  excellent  lady  with 
whom  he  lived,  used  to  warn  and  reprove  him.  But 
he  did  not  reform.  For  his  heart  was  hard,  and  he 
did  not  heed  the  commands  of  God. 

He  grew  up  without  good  principles.  He  became 
a  soldier,  and  had  command  in  the  army.  But  he 
laid  a  plan  to  betray  his  country,  and  sell  it  into  the 
hands  of  the  enemy. 

His  wickedness  was  discovered,  and  he  fled.  He 
never  dared  to  return  to  his  native  land,' but  lived 
despised,  and  died  in  misery.  We  know  not  how 
much  of  the  sin  which  disgraced  his  character,  sprang 
out  of  his  hardness  of  heart,  and  cruelty  to  animals. 

Many  of  the  inferior  creation,  display  virtues 
which  are  deserving  of  respect.  How  many  re- 
markable instances  have  we  heard,  of  the  sagacity 
3* 


30  THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 

of  the  elephant,  and  the  grateful  attachment,  and 
fidelity  of  the  dog. 

A  shepherd.,  who  lived  at  the  foot  of  the  Grampian 
mountains,  one  day,  in  going  to  look  after  his  flock, 
took  with  him  his  little  boy  of  four  years  old. 
Some  of  his  sheep  had  strayed.  In  pursuing  them, 
he  was  obliged  to  climb  rocks,  so  steep,  that  the 
child  could  not  follow. 

The  shepherd  charged  the  child  to  remain  where 
he  left  him,  until  he  should  return.  But  while  he 
was  gone,  one  of  those  thick  fogs  arose,  which  in 
that  part  of  Scotland  are  not  uncommon.  With 
difficulty  he  groped  his  way  back  again.  But  the 
child  was  gone. 

All  his  search  was  vain.  There  was  sorrow  that 
night,  in  the  lowly  cottage  of  his  parents.  The  next 
day,  the  neighbours  joined,  and  continued  their  pur- 
suit, for  several  days,  and  nights.    But  in  vain. 

"Is  my  dog  lost  tool"  said  the  father,  as  he  one 
day  entered  his  dwelling,  and  sat  down  in  weariness 
and  despair.  "  He  has  come  here  daily,  said  his  little 
daughter,  while  you  and  mother,  have  been  search- 
ing for  poor  Donald.  I  have  given  him  a  piece  of 
cake,  which  he  has  taken,  and  run  hastily  away." 

The  household  bread,  of  the  poor,  in  Scotland,  is 
made  of  oatmeal,  and  being  not  baked  in  loaves, 
but  rolled  out  thin,  is  often  called  cake.  While 
they  were  speaking,  the  dog  rushed  in,  and  leaped 
upon  his  master,  whining  earnestly. 

An  oatmeal  cake  was  given  him.  He  appeared  hun- 
gry but  eat  only  a  small  portion  of  it.  The  remainder 
he  took  in  his  mouth,  and  ran  away.  The  shepherd 
followed  him.    It  was  with  difficulty,  that  he  kept 


TREATMENT   TO  ANIMALS.  31 

his  track,  fording  a  swift  streamlet,  and  descending 
into  a  terrible  ravine. 

Then  he  entered  a  cave.  And  what  was  his  joy 
to  see  there  his  little,  lost  son.  He  was  eating  heart- 
ily the  bread  which  the  dog  had  brought  him,  while 
he,  standing  by,  and  wagging  his  tail,  looked  up  in 
his  face  with  delight,  as  he  took  the  food,  which  he 
nobly  denied  himself. 

It  seems  that  the  dog  was  with  the  child,  when  in 
the  dimness  of  the  mist,  he  wandered  away.  He 
must  have  aided  him  to  pass  the  deep  waters  that 
crossed  his  path.  And  when  he  found  shelter  in 
that  rude  cavern,  and  mourned  for  his  parents,  the 
faithful  dog  guarded  him  like  a  father,  and  fed  him 
with  a  mother's  tenderness. 

How  can  we  foil  to  treat  with  kindness,  a  race  of 
animals,  who  are  capable  of  such  virtues.  Others, 
who  are  less  celebrated,  often  show  traits  of  charac- 
ter, which  are  worthy  of  imitation.  Let  us  hear  the 
opinion  of  the  poet  CoWper,  on  this  interesting  sub- 
ject. 

"  We  too  might  learn,  if  not  too  proud  to  stoop, 
To  animal  instructors,  many  a  good 
And  useful  quality,  and  virtue  too, 
Rarely  exemplified  among  ourselves. 
Fidelity,  that  neither  bribe,  nor  threat 
Can  move,  or  warp,  and  gratitude  for  small 
And  trivial  favours,  lasting  as  the  life, 
And  glistening  even  from  the  dying  eye." 

Birds  give  us  an.  example  of  tender  affection. 
There  is  no  warfare  in  their  nests.  The  little  bro- 
thers and  sisters  dwell  together  in  harmony,  till  they 


32  the  boy's  book. 

are  able  to  stretch  out  the  newly-plumed  wing,  and 
quit  the  care  of  the  parent.  Say  they  not  to  us,  as 
they  sing  among  the  branches,  "  live  in  love  f" 

The  innocent  dove,  is  cited  as  a  model  in  the  book 
of  God.  "Be  ye  harmless  as  doves,"  said  our  Sa- 
viour, to  his  disciples.  The  stork  spreads  out  its 
broad  pinions,  and  bears  its  aged  parents,  on  their 
journey  through  the  air.  It  feeds  and  cherishes  them 
with  the  same  care,  that  it  received  in  its  own  help- 
less infancy.  Shall  we  not  learn  from  it,  a  lesson  of 
filial  piety? 

Once  a  robin,  in  returning  to  her  nest,  was  shot 
dead.  The  mate  mourned  bitterly  for  her  loss,  but 
took  her  place  upon  the  nest.  There  he  brooded, 
until  the  young  came  forth  from  the  egg,  and  then 
he  sought  food,  and  fed  them  like  a  mother,  until 
they  were  able  to  fly  away. 

Often  while  he  was  performing  her  duties,  and  al- 
ways at  the  close  of  day,  his  plaintive  note  was 
heard,  lamenting  his  lost  love.  Ah  !  who  could  be 
so  wicked  as  to  destroy  the  nest,  or  the  eggs,  or  the 
young,  of  those  affectionate  creatures.  Our  Father 
in  Heaven,  "  taketh  care  of  sparrows,  and  feedeth 
the  young  ravens  that  cry." 


THE  GOOD  BROTHER. 

"I  have  just  been  to  the  funeral  of  poor  Mrs. 
Howard,  said  Mrs.  Ashley,  to  her  family,  as  they 


THE   GOOD   BROTHER.  33 

gathered  around  the  tea-table.  Her  death  was  very 
sudden.  She  dropped  down,  in  a  kind  of  fit,  with- 
out any  previous  sickness.  But  I  do  not  think  she 
has  ever  been  well,  since  her  husband  was  lost  at 
sea,  more  than  a  year  ago. 

"You  cannot  think  how  affecting  it  was,  to  see 
her  two  children,  walking  behind  the  corpse,  and  no 
near  relation  with  them,  and  then  the  kindness  of 
Edward,  to  his  little  sister  Julia.  I  have  always 
heard  that  he  was  a  remarkably  good  boy,  but  his  at- 
tentions to  her,  were  most  touching. 

"It  seemed  as  if  his  heart  was  so  divided  between 
care  of  her,  and  grief  for  the  dead,  that  he  did  not 
think  of  himself  at  all.  When  they  stood  by  the 
grave,  of  their  only  parent,  and  looked  down  into  it 
so  lone,  and  desolate,  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  among 
the  people. 

"The  little  girl  cried  so,  that  she  could  hardly 
stand,  and  her  brother  tried  to  support  her,  as  if  he 
was  a  man.  And  when  the  frozen  clods  falling 
upon  the  coffin-lid,  made  every  heart  quake,  he  bent 
over  her  as  if  he  hoped  to  keep  the  sound  from  her ; 
and  when  all  was  over,  and  they  turned  away,  he 
wrapped  her  short,  thin  cloak  close  over  her,  and 
put  his  arm  round  her  so  tenderly,  that  every  one 
was  moved." 

"Dear  mother,  what  will  become  of  those  poor 
children  ?"  asked  Mary  Ashley.  "  I  think,  my  dear, 
that  when  the  uncle  and  aunt  return  home,  they  will 
take  one  or  both  of  them,  though  their  own  family  is 
large.  It  makes  it  worse  for  the  orphans,  that  they 
live  so  far  from  neighbours,  but  we  must  go  out 


34  the  boy's  book. 

there,  in  the  morning,  and  see  what  we  can  do  for 
their  comfort" 

When  Edward  and  his  sister  came  home  from  the 
funeral,  he  observed  that  she  shivered,  and  hastened 
to  make  a  fire,  and  drew  her  chair  near  to  it  "  Sis- 
ter, are  you  warm  1  Dear  Julia,  speak  to  me."  But 
the  ague  was  violent,  and  her  teeth  chattered,  so 
that  she  could  not  articulate. 

A  good  woman,  who  came  out  from  the  village, 
made  her  some  warm  herb-tea,  and  put  her  in  bed, 
but  was  obliged  to  go  home  in  the  evening,  to  her 
own  children.  So  Edward  lighted  his  little  lamp,  and 
shaded  it  from  his  sister's  eyes,  and  sat  down  to 
watch  by  her  side. 

Though  he  was  exceedingly  weary,  he  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  sleep,  lest  she  should  need  some- 
thing, for  her  face  was  red  with  fever,  and  she  kept 
continually  asking  for  drink.  He  felt  as  if  his  heart 
would  break,  when  sometimes  after  he  had  moisten- 
ed her  parched  lips,  she  would  cry  out  as  if  in  a  bro- 
ken dream,  "oh  mother  !  mother !" 

When  the  morning  dawned,  she  seemed  to  be  in  a 
more  quiet  sleep,  and  closing  the  door  behind  him 
gently,  he  ran  to  the  village,  for  the  physician. 
"  Oh  sir,  my  sister  is  sick.  I  am  afraid  she  will  die. 
Please  to  come  down  to  her.  I  have  no  money  now. 
But,  sir,  I  will  work  and  pay  you.  I  will  more  than 
pay  you,  when  I  get  to  be  a  man." 

"  How  old  are  you,  my  good  boy  !H  "  I  am  almost 
thirteen,  sir,  and  my  sister  is  ten.  There  are  but 
two  of  us.  Our  mother  was  buried  yesterday,  and 
father  died  at  sea.  If  Julia  should  die,  I  know  not 
what  would  become  of  me." 


THE   GOOD    BROTHER.  dO 

The  kind  physician's  heart  was  touched.  "  Wait, 
said  he,  and  I  will  carry  you  along  in  my  chaise, 
for  it  is  nearly  two  miles,  and  you  will  be  tired  to 
walk  back."  But  Edward  said,  "Please  to  excuse 
me,  that  I  cannot  stay.  My  sister  is  all  alone.  I 
will  run  and  tell  her,  that  you  will  come  soon.  May 
I  do  so,  sir  V 

He  reached  home,  almost  before  she  had  missed 
him.  "Sweet  sister,  said  he,  the  good  doctor  is 
coming  to  see  you.  I  think  he  will  make  you  well. 
And  now,  see  what  a  nice  fire  I  shall  make  for  you. 
I  picked  up  these  shavings,  and  little  bits  of  pine,  as 
I  passed  by  the  carpenter's  shop  in  the  village,  to 
kindle  with. 

"There.  How  quick  it  is  blazing.  Look,  Julia, 
look.  And  now,  I  will  heat  some  water,  and  make 
some  gruel  for  your  breakfast.  I  know  exactly  how 
mother  made  it,  and  you  used  to  say  how  good  it 
tasted." 

But  the  child  moaned,  and  said  she  could  take  no- 
thing. When  the  physician  came,  he  pronounced 
her  to  have  a  fever,  and  left  some  medicines,  which 
he  was  so  kind  as  to  bring  for  her.  He  encouraged 
Edward,  that  she  might  soon  be  better,  and  at  those 
cheering  words,  the  poor  boy  could  not  refrain  from 
bursting  into  tears,  and  followed  him  out  to  the 
chaise,  thanking  him  with  all  his  heart. 

Mrs.  Ashley  and  her  daughter,  called  to  see  the 
orphans,  and  finding  how  sick  Julia  was,  sent  com- 
forts to  her,  and  food  for  her  brother,  and  one  of 
their  neighbours  came  to  watch,  that  Edward  might 
get  some  rest.  But  whenever  he  heard  his  sister 
mourning  in  her  pain,  he  was  by  her  side,  and  if  she 


3b  THE  boy's  book. 

objected  to  the  bitter  medicine,  he  would  say,  "  do 
dear  sister,  take  it  for  my  sake,"  until  he  prevailed. 

During  her  sickness,  Julia  was  often  irritable,  but 
Edward's  patience  never  failed.  He  always  spoke 
to  her  in  the  kindest  tones,  and  if  she  gave  any 
trouble  to  the  neighbours  who  came  in  to  nurse  her 
would  say,  "  pray,  forgive  her.  She  is  but  a  child, 
and  weak,  and  her  heart  is  grieved,  because  mother 
is  dead." 

At  length,  the  brother  of  Mrs.  Howard,  and  his 
wife,  returned  home.  They  decided  to  receive  Ju- 
lia into  their  family,  and  she  was  removed  there  on 
her  bed.  It  was  thought  best  that  Edward  should  be 
apprenticed  to  a  joiner,  in  the  village,  and  so  thank- 
ful was  he,  that  his  sister  was  recovering,  and  had 
found  a  refuge  with  her  relatives,  that  he  scarcely 
remembered  his  own  lot  must  be  among  strangers. 

Being  taken  at  an  earlier  age  than  was  usual  with 
mechanics,  and  much  the  youngest  in  a  large  num- 
ber of  apprentices  and  journeymen,  he  was  expect- 
ed to  be  the  waiter  of  all.  Yet  whatever  hardship 
befell  him,  he  was  patient  and  gentle-tempered. 
!  His  greatest  pleasure  was  to  visit  his  sister.  Sun- 
Say  was  his  only  day  of  leisure,  and  he  was  very 
punctual  in  attendance  at  church ;  but  he  was 
thankful  to  be  invited  to  take  tea  at  his  uncle's,  for  he 
had  then  the  satisfaction  of  spending  several  hours 
with  her. 

As  years  passed  on,  he  found  in  some  of  those  in- 
terviews, that  she  was  quite  disposed  to  complain. 
Her  aunt  required  too  much  work  of  her,  or  her  little 
cousins  troubled  her.  But  especially  the  children 
at  school,  did  not  treat  her  as  she  desired.    "  I  dare 


THE  GOOD    BROTHER.  37 

say  this  comes,  she  would  add,  from  my  not  being 
dressed  any  better." 

"Dear  sister,  he  would  reply,  I  think  you  have 
comfortable  clothes,  and  if  they  are  not  whole  and 
neat,  that  must  be  your  own  fault,  since  you  know 
well,  how  to  wash  and  mend.  You  must  consider, 
what  a  great  favour  it  is,  that  uncle  and  aunt  should 
thus  stand  in  the  place  of  parents.  For  how  many 
orphans  like  us,  suffer  for  want  of  food  and  raiment. 

"  If  you  are  not  quite  as  well  dressed,  as  those 
around  you,  just  put  on  a  pleasanter  face,  and  sweet- 
er manners  than  they,  to  make  up  the  difference. 
These  are  things  that  the  poor  can  have,  as  well  as 
the  rich.  They  cost  no  money,  but  they  bring  what 
money  will  not  always  buy ;  good-will,  and  love  from 
those  we  associate  with." 

"  Edward,  I  declare  you  are  equal  to  our  old  min- 
ister, for  preaching.  I  hear  preaching  enough  at 
home.  When  I  see  you,  I  should  like  to  be  enter- 
tained." "Is  there  any  better  entertainment  than 
good  counsel,  dear  sister ! 

"  But  it  is  time  for  me  to  go,  as  the  bell  will  ring 
for  nine,  before  I  get  home."  And  as  he  bade  her 
good  night,  and  kissed  her,  he  whispered  in  her  ear, 
"  keep  this  text  in  your  heart,  to  remember  me  by, 
till  we  meet  again,  "  I  have  learned,  in  whatsoever 
state  lam,  therewith  to  be  content." 

As  Edward  advanced  in  the  knowledge  of  his  busi- 
ness, a  yearly  allowance  was  made  him,  for  his 
clothing ;  and  he  was  delighted  to  economize,  that  he 
might  have  it  in  his  power,  to  show  his  love  for  his 
sister,  by  some  appropriate  gift  This  was  often  in 
the  form  of  an  useful  and  instructive  book. 
4 


On  her  sixteenth  birth-day,  he  brought  her  a  beau- 
tiful Bible,  in  which  many  passages  were  marked 
with  his  pencil,  bespeaking  her  particular  attention. 
For  he  thought  it  the  duty  of  a  good  brother,  to  seek 
the  welfare  of  his  sister,  not  only  in  this  life,  but  in 
that  which  is  to  come. 

Often  did  he  urge  her,  in  the  most  affectionate 
terms,  to  strive  for  the  consolations  of  true  religion, 
and  trust  in  an  Almighty  Protector.  "I  wish  I 
could  but  live  with  you,  Edward,  she  would  reply. 
Then,  I  have  no  doubt,  I  should  be  always  good." 

This  wish  was  nearer  its  accomplishment,  than 
she  had  anticipated.  Such  was  Edward's  good  con- 
duct, and  knowledge  of  business,  that,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-one,  his  master  proposed  to  take  him  as  a 
partner ;  and  as  there  had  been  long  a  mutual  at- 
tachment, between  him,  and  his  daughter,  he  con- 
sented to  their  union,  and  the  marriage  soon  took 
place. 

It  was  an  unspeakable  pleasure  to  Edward,  to  re- 
ceive his  sister  to  his  comfortable,  and  neatly-fur- 
nished home,  and  to  perceive  that  she,  and  his  amia- 
ble young  wife,  cherished  an  affection  for  each  other. 
"  Our  fire-side  is  yours,  Julia,"  he  said.  "  But,  re- 
member," he  playfully  added,  "  your  promise,  to  be 
always  good  if  you  lived  with  me.  I  shall  hold  you  to 
it.  For  your  improvement  and  happiness  are  as  dear 
to  me,  as  my  own." 

Her  brother's  example, — the  devotion  of  his  pray- 
ers, at  the  family-altar, — his  affectionate,  consistent 
deportment, — his  desire  to  do  good  to  all,  and  the  se- 
renity of  his  temper,  amid  the  little  perplexities  of 
life,  awakened  a  desire  to  imitate  him,  and  to  obtain 


THE   GOOD   BROTHER.  39 

that  piety,  which  he  mentioned  as  the  source  of  his 
peace  and  hope. 

Constant  effort,  and  prayer  for  divine  aid,  wrought 
a  change  in  her  character.  Her  irritable  disposi- 
tion seemed  to  have  passed  away.  To  her  uncle 
and  aunt,  whose  care,  while  with  them,  she  had 
never  fully  appreciated,  and  whose  strictness,  she 
too  often  misunderstood,  she  now  studied  to  give 
proofs  of  her  attachment  and  gratitude. 

When  any  remarked,  how  visibly  her  better  quali- 
ties were  unfolding,  she  meekly  replied,  "  My  good 
brother  is  my  teacher."  But  he  answered,  "  I  think 
she  is  taught  by  the  good  Spirit  of  our  God." 

Years  of  happiness  were  the  portion  of  the  good 
brother,  and  his  family.  Little  ones  rose  up  around 
his  table  like  olive-plants,  and  of  these,  aunt  Julia 
made  herself  the  instructor  and  friend.  It  was  her 
ambition  to  be  assured  that  next  to  the  father  and 
mother,  she  was  the  object  of  their  love. 

But  her  constitution,  which  had  been  always  deli- 
cate, showed  symptoms  of  early  decay.  Her  flesh 
wasted,  and  a  hollow  cough  alarmed  her  affectionate 
relatives.  The  good  physician  who  had  attended 
her  in  her  desolate  childhood,  visited  her  daily. 

Soon  the  red  hectic  sat  upon  her  cheek,  and  it 
was  but  too  evident,  that  the  deadly  consumption 
had  made  her  its  victim.  Edward  procured  a  light 
carriage,  and  on  every  fine  summer's  day,  took  her 
to  ride  among  the  scenery  that  she  loved. 

As  he  was  seen  driving  slowly,  and  carefully,  lest 
the  wheels  passing  over  a  stone,  might  agitate  the 
wasted  invalid,  or  bending  down  to  hear  some  re- 
mark made  in  her  faint,  broken  tones,  pitying  neigh- 


40  THE   BOY'S   BOOK. 

bours  and  friends,  would  bless  his  untiring  sympa- 
thy, and  say,  that  the  ministry  of  the  good  brother 
was  almost  over  upon  earth. 

It  was  during  these  excursions,  so  sweet,  and 
mournful,  that  the  failing  one,  poured  into  her  bro- 
ther's ear,  the  fulness  of  her  love  and  trust  in  her 
Redeemer.  The  thought  of  parting  with  her,  lost  its 
bitterness,  when  he  heard  her  say  that  death  came 
as  a  friend. 

"Life  is  lovely,"  she  added,  with  her  faint  voice. 
"You  have  made  it  so.  But  heaven  is  brighter. 
And  you  first  pointed  me  there.  If  God  permit,  I 
will  be  near  you,  when  I  have  angel's  wings.  I  will 
bear  you  up  in  my  hands,  lest  you  dash  your  foot 
against  a  stone." 

When  the  last  hour  came,  he  supported  her  in  his 
arms.  She  tenderly  embraced  his  wife,  thanking 
her  for  her  love,  and  kissed  the  little  children  with 
her  cold,  white  lips. 

Leaning  her  head  on  the  shoulder  of  him  who  sus- 
tained her,  she  gasped  long  and  painfully,  ere  she 
could  say,  "  brother,  dear  brother,  farewell.  You 
have  been  father  and  mother  to  me.  You  led  me 
to  the  Saviour.    Lord,  I  come  !  I  come  !" 

The  pangs  of  death  shook  her  sore.  "  Pray ! 
Pray  !  once  more  for  me,"  she  entreated.  And  her 
brother,  kneeling  by  the  bed,  prayed  that  her  pas- 
sage through  the  dark  valley,  might  be  made  easy, 

Then  the  lips  of  the  dying,  moved  as  if  in  prayer, 
and  a  light  of  joy  came  over  her  face.  Those  who 
bent  over  the  pillow,  heard  the  name  of  "  Great 
Redeemer."  But  her  last  whisper  was  "  brotlier,  good 
brother"    And  her  spirit  ascended. 


GRATITUDE   TO   TEACHERS.  41 


GRATITUDE  TO  TEACHERS. 

Thank  every  person,  who  confers  on  you  an  ob- 
ligation. Remember  all  acts  of  kindness.  Cultivate 
a  grateful  disposition.  To  forget  favours,  or  treat 
with  indifference  those  who  have  shown  them  to  you 
are  great  faults.    Even  savages  despise  ingratitude. 

Some  have  rendered  you  services  that  you  can 
never  hope  to  repay.  Your  parents  have,  and  every 
day  adds  to  the  debt.  Other  persons  have  given  you 
gifts,  which  you  are  not  able  to  return.  Treasure 
these  in  your  memory,  and  ask  God  to  requite  them. 

Number  among  your  benefactors,  those  who  have 
given  you  good  advice.  But  especially,  place  in  the 
highest  rank,  those  who  have  laboured  to  instruct 
you.  For  as  knowledge  is  one  of  the  most  precious 
gifts,  your  teachers  are  among  your  best  benefactors. 

Be  attentive  to  their  precepts,  and  docile  to  their 
commands.  After  you  are  removed  from  their  im- 
mediate care,  speak  of  them  with  grateful  remem- 
brance. Wherever  you  meet  them,  show  them  a 
marked  respect.  "Esteem  them  very  highly  in 
love,  for  their  work's  sake." 

Never  lay  up  in  your  mind,  any  unpleasant  cir- 
cumstances which  may  have  occured  at  school. 
Take  only  the  sweet  kernel  of  the  nut,  and  throw 
the  rough  husk  away.  It  is  one  characteristic  of  a 
good  boy  to  love  his  teachers,  and  be  beloved  by 
them.  And  he  who  continues  through  life,  to  treat 
4* 


42  the  boy's  book. 

them  with  regard,  proves  that  he  prizes  wisdom,  and 
is  capable  of  gratitude. 

Think  of  the  value  of  knowledge,  and  never 
trouble  your  teachers  to  urge,  or  drive  you  to  acquire 
it.  It  is  a  source  of  high  pleasure.  A  well-furnish- 
ed mind  is  never  at  a  loss  for  amusement.  It  need 
never  suffer  from  loneliness,  or  in  the  words  of  a 
poet,  "  feel  it  solitude  to  be  alone." 

There  was  a  learned  man,  whose  name  was  Mr. 
Roger  Ascham.  He  lived  in  England,  about  three 
centuries  ago.  He  was  tutor  to  the  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
and  was  once  both  surprised  and  pleased,  to  find 
her  engaged  in  study,  while  the  rest  of  the  family 
were  pursuing  a  favourite  amusement  in  the  park. 

Though  she  was  quite  young,  it  was  the  Philoso- 
phy of  Plato,  in  Greek,  which  she  had  chosen  to 
read.  "Why  do  you  not  join  the  gay  party?"  said 
he.  "  Because  I  find  more  enjoyment  in  my  book, 
than  in  those  sports,"  she  replied.  She  had  di  - 
covered  that  there  was  pleasure  in  knowledge. 

Knowledge  can  give  the  same  happiness  now,  that 
it  gave  three  hundred  years  since,  to  Lady  Jane 
Grey.  It  does  not  change  with  time.  Love  to  read, 
and  to  meditate,  and  to  converse  about  what  you 
learn,  and  you  will  hardly  fail  to  think  of  your 
teachers  with  gratitude. 

Knowledge  gives  the  power  of  being  extensively 
useful.  Those  must  therefore,  labour  to  obtain  it, 
who  wish  to  do  good  in  the  world.  Our  country  can 
show  many  examples  of  those  who  have  risen  to 
eminent  stations,  by  the  efforts  of  their  own  minds. 
They  are  called  self-made  men,  and  are  an  honour  to 
its  history. 


GRATITUDE   TO   TEACHERS.  43 

Dr.  Franklin,  assisted  his  father  in  making  can- 
dles, and  was  afterwards  a  printer's  boy.  But  he 
found  time  to  read,  for  he  was  a  lover  of  knowl- 
edge. When  he  grew  up,  he  became  a  philos- 
opher, a  statesman,  an  ambassador  at  the  courts  of 
Europe. 

He  founded  libraries  for  the  poor,  and  sought  to 
spread  knowledge  among  the  people.  He  made  dis- 
coveries in  science,  which  will  cause  his  name  long 
to  be  remembered.  He  is  numbered  among  the 
benefactors  of  mankind. 

Was  it  the  possession  of  wealth,  or  the  aid  of 
powerful  friends,  that  made  Franklin  so  great  1  No. 
It  was  simply  the  love  of  knowledge,  and  the  good 
sense  to  make  a  right  use  of  it : — that  very  knowl- 
edge which  your  teachers  are  trying  to  give  you, 
and  for  which  you  are  bound  to  show  them  grati- 
tude. 

Make  it  a  rule  not  to  go  to  bed  at  night,  without 
having  learned  something,  which  you  did  not  know 
in  the  morning.  Try  that  the  knowledge  which  you 
acquire,  may  add  to  the  comfort  of  your  parents, 
brothers,  sisters,  and  friends,  and  make  you  useful 
when  you  grow  to  be  a  man. 

Ask  your  Heavenly  Father,  every  morning  and 
night,  for  a  heart  to  obey  your  teachers,  and  to  get 
knowledge,  not  for  the  pride  of  it,  but  as  a  means 
of  doing  good.  If  you  continue  to  do  this  for  a  year 
you  will  find  such  pleasure  in  the  habit,  that  I 
should  hope  it  would  be  unnecessary  any  longer  to 
urge  you  to  love  knowledge,  or  its  teachers,  because 
you  would  continue  to  do  so,  of  your  own  accord. 

Alexander  the  Great,  always  showed  gratitude  to 


44  the  boy's  book. 

his  instructor,  Aristotle.  He  said,  "  if  I  am  indebted 
to  Philip,  for  living,  I  am  indebted  to  Aristotle  for 
living  well"  When  Stagyra,  the  native  city  of  Aris- 
totle, had  been  destroyed  in  war,  Alexander  rebuilt, 
and  beautified  it,  as  a  mark  of  affection  for  his  pre- 
ceptor. 

After  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus  became  Emperor 
of  Rome,  he  treated  with  the  greatest  respect,  those 
who  had  given  him  knowledge.  As  long  as  they 
lived,  he  cheered  them  with  his  gratitude.  After 
their  death,  he  had  their  statues  made  of  gold  and 
kept  them  in  his  domestic  chapel,  and  used  to  lay 
garlands  of  the  choicest  flowers  upon  their  tombs. 

If  heathens  showed  such  tender  affection  to  their 
teachers,  ought  we  not  still  more  to  love  those  who 
instruct  us  in  religion  1  For  that  is  worth  more  to 
us,  than  any  thing  else.  It  will  remain  when  other 
possessions  perish. 

However  long  we  may  be  permitted  to  live  on 
earth,  we  must  leave  it  at  last.  If  we  die  without 
the  hope  of  future  happiness,  how  terrible  will  be 
the  loss.  If  we  leave  this  world,  with  the  bright 
prospect  of  entering  into  perfect  joy,  how  unspeak- 
able will  be  our  gain. 

Regard  therefore,  with  tender  love,  those  who  in- 
struct you  how  to  obtain  a  mansion  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.  Ask  them  to  tell  you  more  of  that  glo- 
rious country,  and  how  you  may  learn  the  language, 
and  imitate  the  character  of  its  inhabitants. 

Love  the  teachers  of  your  Sunday-school,  and 
show  this  love  by  a  respectful  deportment.  Love 
your  clergyman.  He  studies  and  labours  that  you 
may  become  good  and  happy.    Every  Sabbath,  3^ou 


GRATITUDE   TO    TEACHERS.  45 

share  in  his  instructions.  When  he  is  at  home,  in 
his  secret  chamber,  he  remembers  you  in  his 
prayers. 

Take  pains  to  convince  him,  how  grateful  and  af- 
fectionate you  feel.  Meet  him  with  a  smiling  brow, 
and  respectful  manners.  It  will  cheer  him  when  he 
is  weary.  Never  trifle  or  behave  lightly  in  his  pre- 
sence. Regard  him  as  the  interpreter  of  the  law  of 
the  King  of  kings. 

You  will  better  understand  your  obligations  to  the 
teachers  of  religion,  when  you  are  sick,  or  draw 
nigh  to  death.  Then  the  gilding  will  fall  from  many 
gay  things  that  surround  you,  and  the  mist  from  your 
own  eyes,  and  you  will  see  more  clearly,  both  this 
world  and  the  next. 

A  child,  who  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  fatal  epi- 
demic, said,  "  Oh  father,  go  to  my  minister,  go  to  all 
who  have  catechised  and  instructed  me  in  religion, 
and  thank  them,  in  the  name  of  a  dying  child.  How 
comforting  are  their  words  to  me  now,  in  this,  my 
time  of  distress. 

"  Thank  also;  those  who  have  taught  me  to  read 
and  work.  I  bless  God,  for  his  great  kindness,  in 
granting  me  a  religious  education,  and  the  instruc- 
tion of  teachers  and  ministers.  Thus  have  I  gained 
a  comfort,  that  the  world  was  too  poor  to  afford." 


46  the  boy's  book. 


NIGHT'S  LESSONS. 

Night's  lessons!  What  are  they?  Does  it  not 
shut  out  the  light,  that  we  cannot  see  1  Are  not  the 
hills  veiled,  and  the  solemn  mountains  ?  The  loftiest 
trees,  and  the  humblest  flowers,  and  the  brook  where 
we  sported,  are  alike  hidden  from  us. 

We  cannot  find  our  way  along  our  accustomed 
walks.  A  thick  curtain  is  drawn  over  the  most  fa- 
miliar scenes.  The  book  of  Nature  is  shut.  And 
yet  you  tell  us  of  Night's  lessons.  What  can  they 
be? 

Every  thing  around  is  silent.  The  noisy  wheels 
and  the  busy  hammer,  and  the  sound  of  the  forge, 
and  the  tread  of  the  passing  people,  are  no  longer 
heard.  The  playful  children  are  at  rest.  We  hear 
no  more  the  laughter,  or  the  cry  of  the  babe,  for  it 
slumbers  on  the  breast  of  its  mother. 

The  lowing  herd,  are  in  their  stalls.  Every  bird 
is  silent  in  its  nest.  The  hen  broods  her  young  chick- 
ens, sleeping  herself  also  ;  and  the  watch-dog  is  quiet 
in  his  kennel.  No  voice  speaks  to  us,  throughout 
the  silent  frame  of  nature.  What  then,  are  Night's 
lessons  1 

We  are  tired.  We  wish  to  sleep.  Our  hands,  and 
our  feet  are  weary.  Our  limbs,  which  are  growing, 
ache,  and  would  fain  stretch  themselves  out,  and  be 
at  rest,  that  they  may  expand  more  perfectly. 

The  lessons  of  our  school  are  over.  The  lights  in 
the  distant  windows  are  extinguished,  one  after  the 


night's  lessons.  47 

other.  The  village  will  soon  be  lost  in  slumber. 
When  all  the  men,  and  all  the  women  are  asleep, 
must  we  keep  awake  to  learn  lessons  1 

In  large  cities,  there  may  be  heard,  now  and  then, 
the  rushing  wheel  of  the  traveller.  The  watchmen 
pace  their  round,  and  cry,  "All  is  well."  In  the 
long,  cold  nights  of  Norway,  the  watchmen  who 
guard  the  capitol,  pronounce  in  a  solemn  tone,  "  God 
bless  our  good  city  of  Bergen." 

In  the  garrison,  or  the  endangered  fortress,  the 
armed  sentinel  keeps  watch,  lest  they  should  be  sur- 
prised by  the  foe.  But  in  this  peaceful  village,  there 
is  no  need  of  either  sentinel  or  watchman.  Why 
may  we  not  go  to  sleep,  instead  of  learning  Night's 
lessons'? 

My  son,  one  of  these,  you  may  learn  in  a  moment. 
Did  you  say  that  all  will  soon  be  sleeping?  No. 
There  is  one  Eye,  that  never  slumbers.  He  who 
made  all  the  people,  keepeth  watch  above  the  ever- 
lasting hills.     Commit  yourself  to  His  care. 

Now,  will  you  learn  with  me,  the  second  lesson  of 
the  night  ]  Lift  your  eyes  to  yon  glorious  canopy. 
Seest  thou  not  there,  a  sentinel,  set  by  the  Eternal 
at  the  northern  gate  of  heaven  1    The  pole-star ! 

The  pole-star  !  Blessings  are  breathed  upon  it,  by 
the  weary  caravan,  fearing  the  poisonous  wind  of 
the  desert, — by  the  red  forest-children,  seeking  their 
home,  beyond  the  far  western  prairies, — and  by  the 
lonely  mariner,  upon  the  pathless  ocean. 

The  stars!  See  them!  The  oil  in  their  lamps 
never  burns  out.  Those  glorious  constellations, 
wheel  their  mighty  course  unchanged,  while,  "  man 


48  the  boy's  book. 

dieth  and  wasteth  away,  man  giveth  up  the  ghost, 
and  where  is  he  V 

Yon  brilliant  orbs  maintain  their  places,  while 
countless  generations  pass  away,  and  nations  disap- 
pear and  are  forgotten.  Let  us  bow  in  humility  be- 
fore Him,  who  "  bringeth  out  their  host  by  number* 
who  calleth  them  all  by  name,  through  the  greatness  of 
his  might,  for  that  He  is  strong  in  power,  not  one 
faileth." 

Thirteen  times  in  the  year,  Night,  the  Teacher, 
gives  extra  lessons.  Will  you  be  there  to  learn 
them]  First,  she  hangs  up,  a  pale  crescent  in  the 
west.  The  ancient  Jews  hailed  its  infant  beam, 
and  answering  fires  of  joy,  were  kindled  on  the  hills 
of  Palestine. 

Next,  she  summons  forth,  a  rounded  orb,  clad  in 
full  effulgence,  and  commits  to  it,  the  regency,  when 
the  sun  retires.  Lastly,  a  slender,  waning  crescent, 
appears  nightly,  like  an  aged  man,  ready  to  descend 
into  the  night  of  the  tomb. 

"  Soon,  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth, 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth : 
While  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole." 

These  are  some  of  Night's  lessons.  Are  you  tired 
of  them !  Or  will  you  learn  one  more  1  Lift  up 
your  heart  to  Him  who  has  given  you  the  past  day, 
with  thanks  for  its  blessings,— with  penitence  for  its 


INSECTS. 


49 


faults, — with  supplication  for  strength  and  wisdom, 
for  the  time  that  is  to  come. 

"  Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto 
night,  showeth  knowledge  of  God."  Thus  meekly 
and  faithfully  studying  might's  lessons,  may  we 
find, 

M  Even  sorrow  touch'd  by  heaven,  grows  bright 
With  more  than  rapture's  ray, 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light, 
We  never  saw  by  day." 


INSECTS. 

You  probably  know  that  insects  derive  their  name, 
from  the  Latin  word,  insecla,  signifying  to  cut,  because 
the  bodies  of  many  of  them,  for  instance,  the  wasp, 
and  the  house-fly,  seem  to  be  almost  divided,  or  cut 
in  the  middle. 

Some  of  the  insect-tribes,  are  exceedingly  beauti- 
ful. Among  these,  the  butterflies  are  conspicuous. 
They  are  also  very  numerous,  in  their  varieties. 
Naturalists  count  more  than  a  thousand  species. 
Their  graceful  forms,  and  brilliant  colours,  display 
His  skill,  who  gives  the  bird  its  plumage,  and  the 
flower  its  beauty. 

Yet  not  alone  for  their  external  garb,  do  we  ad- 
mire the  insect-race.  Some  of  them  are  exhibit 
a  degree  of  intelligence,  and  a  system  of  habits 
5 


50  THE   BOY'S   BOOK. 

which  are  worthy  to  awaken  our  curiosity,  to  inspire 
us  with  kindness,  or  at  least  to  induce  the  rudest  boy 
to  leave  them  unmolested. 

The  bee,  has  long  been  quoted,  as  an  example  of 
cheerful  industry.  It  gathers  its  sweet  food  with  a 
song,  amid  the  earliest  dews  of  the  morning.  A  bee- 
hive, on  a  fine  summer's  day,  is  like  a  busy,  and 
well-ordered  city.  Throngs  are  going  forth  to  their 
accustomed  toil,  and  throngs  returning  to  deposite 
the  fruits  of  their  labours. 

If  you  look  through  a  glass-hive,  you  will  see 
some  building  or  repairing  the  cells,  some  taking  care 
of  their  young,  and  others  removing  whatever  encum- 
bers, or  deforms,  the  little,  pure  apartments.  Some- 
times you  may  observe  a  group,  bearing  out  a  dead 
body. 

All  the  toil  abroad, — the  nursing-care  at  home,  the 
arts  which  preserve  wealth,  and  the  funeral  honours 
to  the  dead,  go  on  without  interruption,  or  interfer- 
ence. "  So  work  the  honey-bees,"  says  Shakspeare, 
"  and  teach  the  arts  of  order,  to  a  peopled  king- 
dom." 

A  division  of  labour  is  established  among  them. 
While  some  nurse  the  infants,  others  collect  ma- 
terials for  building,  others  work  as  masons,  brick- 
layers, or  plaisterers,  others,  like  artists  or  professors 
of  architecture,  plan  and  polish  the  cells,  and  give 
symmetry  to  the  whole. 

One  of  the  secrets  of  their  prosperity,  is  a  well-ad- 
ministered government.  Their  obedience,  and  at- 
tachment to  the  queen,  are  wonderful.  No  resistance 
is  made  to  her  authority,  and  she  seems  to  govern 
with  equal  energy  and  wisdom. 


INSECTS.  51 

Bees  are  said  to  be  capable  of  attachment  to 
those,  under  whose  care  they  live.  Marmontel,  a 
celebrated  French  writer,  mentions  an  aunt  of  his, 
whom  the  tenants  of  the  hive,  knew  and  loved.  He 
says,  that  in  damp,  or  chilly  weather,  when  their 
wings  were  torpid,  she  would  take  them  in  her  hands, 
and  revive  them  with  her  breath,  and  that  so  far 
from  hurting  her,  they  distinguished  her  with  a 
grateful  fondness. 

Plutarch,  the  historian,  relates  a  singular  story  of 
the  bees  of  Crete,  which,  in  pursuit  of  flowers,  often 
passed  a  cape,  or  promontory,  where  high  winds  pre- 
vailed. He  asserts,  that  they  took  with  them  a  par- 
ticle of  gravel,  to  give  weight  to  their  bodies,  that 
they  might  not  be  blown  away  ;  as  a  vessel  takes  in 
ballast,  ere  she  pursues  her  voyage. 

The  wasp  is  by  no  means  a  favourite.  It  presents 
us  with  no  honied  essence,  and  is  often  too  free  with 
its  sting.  Still,  it  displays  skill,  in  the  construction 
of  its  house,  which  it  builds  either  on  the  ground,  or 
in  the  cavity  of  a  tree,  with  two  entrances,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  wall.  It  makes  use  of  the  cells,  only 
for  the  lodgment  of  its  young,  and  shows  great  pa- 
ternal tenderness,  and  attachment  to  its  home. 

The  ants  give  us  lessons  of  industry  and  prudence. 
"Consider  their  ways  and  be  wise,"  said  king  Solo- 
mon. In  summer,  they  lay  up  a  store,  for  the  win- 
ter's want.  If  they  have  a  heavy  load  to  transport, 
they  unite  their  strength,  until  it  is  drawn  to  the 
granary.  If  a  single  one,  labours  under  too  severe 
a  burden,  others  hasten  to  its  assistance. 

The  numerous  cells,  of  their  dwellings,  are  united 
by  little  subterranean  galleries.    If  these  are  mo- 


52  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

lested,  or  destroyed,  they  remove  to  a  different 
neighbourhood,  and  construct  another  habitation. 
They  are  said  to  possess  as  much  sagacity,  as  per- 
severance. 

When  Dr.  Franklin  was  ambassador  in  France, 
he  was  once  taking  his  breakfast  alone,  in  Paris,  and 
observed  a  number  of  black  ants,  climbing  over  the 
lumps  of  sugar.  He  drove  them  away,  but  they  re- 
turned. To  test  their  ingenuity,  he  caused  the  sugar- 
bowl  to  be  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  a  few  inches 
above  the  table. 

When  all  was  again  quiet,  the  ants  returned,  and 
endeavoured  to  reach  the  treasure,  by  standing  upon 
each  other's  shoulders.  Mounted  in  this  manner, 
the  highest  one  reached  earnestly  upwards,  but  in 
vain.  The  chain  of  ants  fell,  as  fast  as  it  was  raised 
like  the  pride  of  the  builders  of  Babel. 

After  many  attempts,  they  disappeared.  The 
philosopher  thought  they  had  given  up  the  mat- 
ter. Not  so.  In  due  time,  they  were  seen  de- 
scending the  string,  having  scaled  the  walls,  tra- 
versed the  ceiling,  and  like  Hannibal,  crossed  the 
Alps,  to  fasten  upon  the  spoil. 

The  white  ants,  or  termites,  as  they  are  sometimes 
called,  are .  very  powerful  insects.  They  inhabit 
warm  countries,  and  their  houses  are  raised  in  the 
form  of  a  sugar-loaf,  ten  or  twelve  feet  in  height. 
Their  appetite  being  as  great  as  their  strength,  they 
are  very  destructive  to  any  object,  which  they  select 
for  food. 

With  some  of  the  habits  of  spiders,  we  are  all  ac- 
quainted. Though  the  threads  of  their  web  are  so 
fine,  each  one  is  composed  of  several  strands  twisted 


INSECTS.  53 

together.  Within  their  establishment,  they  build  a 
secret  cell,  as  soft  as  silk,  where  they  lie  in  ambush 
seeking  for  prey. 

Though  we  cannot  praise  the  amiable  qualities  of 
spiders,  we  may  learn  from  them  a  lesson  of  perse- 
verance. If  their  house  is  swept  down,  they  rebuild 
it.  If  the  stores  of  food  which  they  had  laid  up, 
are  destroyed,  they  hasten  to  replenish  them.  They 
are  never  discouraged,  or  dejected. 

When  King  Robert  Bruce  was  defeated,  and  un- 
fortunate, he  was  once  sitting  alone,  in  a  rude  apart- 
ment, ready  to  despair.  Almost  unconsciously,  he 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  a  spider,  which  was  toiling  to 
construct  its  web. 

Many  times  was  it  baffled,  ere  it  could  fix  its  filmy 
line  on  the  point  which  it  desired.  Yet  whenever  it 
was  disappointed,  it  returned  to  the  charge,  with 
courage  and  patience.    At  length  it  succeeded. 

Robert  Bruce,  beheld  the  perseverance  of  the  in- 
sect, and  received  instruction.  He  resumed  his  own 
toils,  and  was  victorious.  Here  was  a  king  learning 
from  a  spider,  not  to  be  discouraged  at  difficulties. 

We  also  will  persevere,  when  we  have  obstacles 
to  encounter.  We  will  not  say,  if  our  studies  are 
difficult,  that  we  cannot  comprehend  them.  If  our 
lessons  are  long,  we  will  not  complain  that  we  are 
tired,  or  excuse  ourselves,  as  not  having  time  to  get 
them. 

The  bee  is  never  tired  of  industry,  nor  does  the 
ant  shrink  back  from  the  heaviest  grain  of  corn, 
nor  the  spider  despond  when  its  favourite  mansion 
is  destroyed,  knowing  that  it  has  the  power  to  re- 
pair it.  Let  us  be  as  wise  as  the  insects. 
5* 


54  the  boy's  book. 

The  light-giving  insects,  are  wonderful  in  their 
construction ;  the  common  fire-fly,  glittering  in  the 
summer-evening,  the  glow-worm,  holding  its  steadier 
lantern  to  the  traveller ;  and  the  brillant  cucullo,  that 
sparkles  amid  the  tropics,  like  a  ruby.  Let  us  not 
carelessly  extinguish  any  lamp,  that  God  has  kin- 
dled, and  which  man  can  never  relume. 

It  is  a  serious  fault  in  the  young,  to  disturb,  or  de- 
stroy innocent  insects.  A  microscope,  so  displays 
their  exquisite  structure,  and  rich  adornment,  that 
we  shudder  at  the  thought  of  destroying  them,  as  if 
we  blotted  out  a  bright  trace  from  the  pencil  of  the 
Almighty. 

What  princely  robe  can  be  compared  with  the 
embroidery  on  the  beetle's  wing  1 — with  the  fringed 
plumes  of  the  moth,  or  the  butterfly  *  Turn  your 
microscope  upon  them,  and  answer.  Look,  in  the 
same  manner,  at  the  proboscis,  with  which  the  fly 
tastes  the  honey-drop,  and  do  not  lightly  crush  out 
its  brief  existence. 

A  fine  writer  has  called  the  more  brillant  insect- 
tribes,  the  "  winged  jewelry  of  heaven."  If  the  Al- 
mighty has  seen  fit  to  create  and  decorate  them,  to 
quicken  their  little  beating  hearts,  to  give  them  a 
most  delicate  net-work  of  nerves,  and  to  make  the 
Simple  pleasures  of  their  being  dear  to  them,  let  us 
beware  how  we  interfere  with  His  design. 

We  will  not  kill  any  harmless  creatures.  We 
will  not  allow  ourselves  to  give  pain  to  the  lowliest, 
or  most  deformed.  "  I  would  not  have  for  my  friend, 
says  Cowper,  one  who  carelessly  sets  his  foot  upon 
a  worm."  We  have  duties  to  perform,  to  the  whole 
inferior  creation.    The  Father  of  us  all,  has  placed 


USES   OF    EDUCATION.  55 

them  here,  for  his  own  wise  purposes,  but  not  to  call 
forth  the  exercise  of  savage  power,  or  malevolent 
dispositions. 


USES  OF  EDUCATION. 

"  Make  a  crusade  against  ignorance,"  said  one  of 
the  Presidents  of  the  United  States.  You  know  that 
the  crusades  were  wars,  in  which  many  of  the 
princes  of  Europe  united,  to  take  the  city  of  Jerusa- 
lem, out  of  the  hands  of  the  Turks. 

There  were  several  crusades,  and  the  first  com- 
menced, more  than  seven  hundred  years  ago.  The 
soldiers  had  crosses  of  red  cloth,  sewed  upon  their 
garments  to  distinguish  them,  and  marched  under  the 
red-cross  banner. 

The  perseverance  with  which  they  surmounted  ob- 
stacles, and  the  zeal  with  which  their  object  was  pur- 
sued, for  a  century  and  a  half,  are  examples  for  the 
young,  while  acquiring  their  education.  This  is 
what  was  meant,  by  making  a  crusade  against  igno- 
rance. 

Look  at  those  nations,  where  the  common  people 
are  not  able  to  read  and  write.  In  what  hopeless 
vassallage  are  they  crushed.  Or  if  they  are  roused 
to  faction,  or  mutiny,  with  what  blind  and  brute  vio- 
lence, do  they  follow  unprincipled  leaders. 

It  is  one  of  the  distinguished  blessings  of  our  own 
dear  country,  that  no  person  need  to  be  destitute  of 


56  the  boy's  book. 

knowledge.  There  was  an  affecting  earnestness  in 
the  care  of  the  first  settlers  of  New-England,  to  pro- 
vide for  the  interests  of  education. 

Arriving  at  Plymouth,  as  they  did,  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  obliged  to  be  content  with  the  rudest  huts, 
and  sometimes  suffering  from  want  of  food,  as  well 
as  fatal  sickness,  they  established  schools,  amid  all 
the  hardships  of  a  new  colony,  and  only  a  few  years 
had  elapsed,  ere  they  laid  the  foundation  of  a  col- 
lege. 

Great  exertions  are  now  making  among  wise  and 
good  men,  to  elevate  the  character  of  schools.  They 
should  be  considered  as  public  benefactors.  Frede- 
rick William,  the  late  king  of  Prussia,  was  not  assidu- 
ous in  establishing  an  excellent  system  of  education 
among  his  people.  It  was  also  his  object  to  place  a 
Bible  in  every  cottage.  Future  generations  will 
honour  his  memory. 

I  hope  you  feel  it  a  privilege  to  attend  school. 
When  there,  give  your  time  and  thoughts  to  the  em- 
ployments that  are  marked  out  for  you.  Avoid  tri- 
fling with  idle  companions.  Keep  faithfully  every 
rule.    Hold  it  dishonourable  to  break  a  single  one. 

If  you  comply  with  all  the  wishes  of  your  instruc- 
tors you  will  acquire  knowledge  with  pleasure. 
Converse  freely  with  your  parents  and  friends,  about 
the  studies  you  are  pursuing.  You  will  thus  fix  them 
more  firmly  in  your  memory,  and  be  also  in  the  way 
of  acquiring  additional  information. 

"For  the  soul  to  be  without  knowledge  is  not 
good,"  said  King  Solomon.  How  many  have  been 
willing  to  labour  very  hard  for  an  education,  and  to 
work  with  their  own  hands,  to  help  defray  their  ex- 


USES   OF    EDUCATION.  57 

penses,  while  at  school,  or  college.  But  I  never 
heard  any  one  say  that  he  was  sorry,  or  had  taken 
more  pains  to  obtain  knowledge  than  it  was  worth. 

In  the  intervals  of  school,  and  during  its  vacations, 
spend  a  part  of  your  time  in  reading.  Select  useful 
books.  Those  which  amuse  the  fancy  are  pleasant ; 
but  those  which  teach  wisdom,  and  impress  the  ex- 
amples of  goodness  and  piety,  are  more  proper  for 
the  young,  who  are  preparing  themselves  for  the  du- 
ties of  untried  life. 

After  you  have  made  some  advance  in  knowledge, 
the  next  step,  is  to  impart  it.  He  who  hoards  money 
is  a  miser.  What  shall  he  be  called,  who  locks  up 
knowledge  in  his  own  breast  ]  Open  your  stores,  to 
those  with  whom  you  associate,  not  from  ostentation 
as  king  Hezekiah  displayed  his  riches  to  the  Assy- 
rians, and  was  punished  ;  but  freely,  as  the  sun-beam 
visits  both  the  cottage,  and  the  palace. 

Do  not  choose  to  talk  about  trifles,  with  your  com- 
panions. It  is  not  improper  to  love  play,  but  it  is 
wrong  to  devote  the  greatest  part  of  your  time  and 
thoughts  to  it.  In  the  words  of  the  prophet,  it  is  to 
spend  your  "money  for  that  which  is  not  bread, 
and  your  labour  for  that  which  satisfieth  not." 

When  you  read  an  improving  book,  speak  to  your 
young  friends  about  it.  Relate  to  them  some  part  of 
its  contents.  Ask  them  to  do  the  same  by  you. 
Thank  them,  when  they  share  with  you,  these  trea- 
sures of  memory,  more  earnestly,  than  when  they 
give  you  any  gift  which  perishes  in  the  using. 

Converse  with  your  class-mates,  about  the  lessons 
that  you  have  learned  together.  By  imparting  good 
thoughts  to  the  minds  of  others,  and  deepening  them 


58  the  boy's  eook. 

there,  you  put  your  stock  of  knowledge  in  trade,  and 
will  increase  your  capital. 

To  acquire  the  benefits  of  education,  is  a  way  of 
being  happy.  To  dispense  them  liberally,  is  a  way 
of  doing  good.  And  experience  will  teach  you,  that 
doing  good,  and  being  happy,  mean  the  same  thing. 

There  was  once  a  boy,  who  made  a  resolution,  that 
wherever  he  went,  or  with  whoever  he  conversed,  he 
would  try  to  make  them  wiser  and  better.  It  was  a 
noble  rule,  and  he  faithfully  observed  it. 

He  began  with  the  domestics  of  the  family.  Next, 
he  tried  his  young  companions.  If  he  met  the  ig- 
norant and  vicious,  he  sought  out  some  pleasant  pre- 
cept, or  kind  advice,  to  which  they  would  be  likely 
to  listen.    And  he  was  soon  respected  and  beloved. 

This  excellent  habit  grew  up  with  him,  and  was 
strengthened  from  above.  Throughout  the  whole  of 
life,  he  was  distinguished  by  his  conversations,  his 
writings,  and  his  charities ;  and  the  blessings  of 
many  hearts,  and  the  favour  of  heaven  were  his  re- 
ward. 

Are  there  not  some,  at  your  own  homes,  with 
whom  you  can  profitably  divide  your  knowledge] 
Have  you  any  younger  brothers  and  sisters]  Ex- 
plain their  little  books  to  them.  Teach  them  simple 
pieces  of  poetry.    Aid  them  in  their  lessons. 

Thus  you  will  acquire  influence  over  them,  for  it 
has  been  justly  said,  that  "  knowledge  is  power." 
When  you  perceive  that  you  have  this  power,  strive 
to  improve  their  characters.  If  they  are  out  of  hu- 
mour, soothe  them.  If  they  are  ignorant,  or  mis- 
taken, gently  set  them  right. 

Teach  them  to  put  every  thing  in  its  place,  when 


USES   OF    EDUCATION.  59 

they  have  done  with  it ;  to  return  whatever  they 
may  have  borrowed,  to  the  owner ;  and  to  make  the 
best  use  of  their  own  little  possessions.  Show  them 
by  your  own  example,  how  to  be  industrious,  good- 
tempered,  and  happy. 

In  this  way,  you  will  extract  the  pure  gold  of 
knowledge,  and  turn  it  to  its  true  use, — the  purchase 
of  goodness  and  virtue.  And  how  can  you  better  re- 
pay a  portion  of  your  immense  debt  to  your  parents, 
than  by  thus  assisting  to  enrich  and  beautify  the  un- 
folding minds  of  their  little  ones  "* 

Have  you  not  also,  some  knowledge,  to  bestow  in 
charity  1  Can  you  teach  any  person  to  read  1  Un- 
educated children  sometimes  do  wrong,  from  very 
ignorance.  It  is  true  benevolence  to  instruct  them 
in  their  duty,  and  to  endeavour  to  make  them 
love  it. 

So  shall  your  education,  both  elevate  your  own 
mind,  and  benefit  the  souls  of  others.  And  so,  will 
you  best  show  your  gratitude  to  our  Father  in  Hea- 
ven, for  the  privilege  of  living  in  a  land  where 
knowledge  is  free  to  all. 

Sir  William  Jones  was  a  man  of  great  learning. 
He  understood  twenty-six  languages.  So  distin- 
guished were  his  attainments,  and  his  virtues,  that  it 
was  pronounced  a  happiness  to  the  world,  that  he 
had  ever  been  born. 

But  he  was  not  proud  of  his  knowledge.  "  If, 
said  he,  I  am  asked  who  is  the  greatest  man,  I  an- 
swer, the  best :  and  if  I  am  required  to  say  who  is 
the  best,  I  reply,  he  who  has  deserved  most  of  his 
fellow-creatures." 


60  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 


THE  TREMBLING  EYE-LID. 

It  was  the  day  before  Christmas,  in  the  year  1778, 
during  our  war  of  revolution,  that  an  armed  vessel 
sailed  out  of  Boston.  She  was  strongly  built,  and 
carried  twenty  guns,  and  a  crew  of  one  hundred  and 
five  persons;  with  provisions  for  a  cruise  of  six 
months. 

She  made  a  fine  appearance,  as  she  spread  her 
broad  sails,  and  steered  out  of  the  harbour.  Many 
hearts  wished  her  success.  And  she  bore  as  goodly 
a  company  of  bold  and  skilful  seamen,  as  ever 
braved  the  perils  of  the  deep. 

Soon  the  north  wind  blew,  and  brought  a  heavy 
sea  into  the  bay.  The  night  proved  dark,  and  they 
came  to  anchor  with  difficulty,  near  the  harbour  of 
Plymouth.  The  strong  gale  that  buffeted  them,  be- 
came a  storm,  and  the  storm,  a  hurricane. 

Snow  fell,  and  the  cold  was  terribly  severe.  The 
vessel  was  driven  from  her  moorings,  and  struck  on 
a  reef  of  rocks.  She  began  to  fill  with  water,  and 
they  were  obliged  to  cut  away  her  masts.  The  sea 
rose  above  her  main  deck,  sweeping  over  it  with  its 
dark  surges. 

They  made  every  exertion  that  courage  could 
prompt,  or  hardihood  endure.  But  so  fearful  were 
the  wind  and  cold,  that  the  stoutest  man  was  not  able 
to  strike  more  than  two  or  three  blows,  in  cutting 
away  the  masts,  without  being  relieved  by  another. 


THE   TREMBLING   EYE-LID.  61 

The  wretched  people  thronged  together  upon  the 
quarter-deck,  which  was  crowded  almost  to  suffoca- 
tion. They  were  exhausted  with  toil  and  suffering, 
but  could  obtain  neither  provisions,  nor  fresh  water. 
These  were  all  covered  by  the  deep  sea,  when  the 
vessel  became  a  wreck. 

But,  unfortunately,  the  crew  got  access  to  ardent 
spirits,  and  many  of  them  drank,  and  became  intox- 
icated. Insubordination,  mutiny,  and  madness  en- 
sued. The  officers,  remained  clear-minded,  but  lost 
all  authority  over  the  crew,  who  raved  around 
them. 

A  more  frightful  scene,  can  scarcely  be  imagined : 
the  dark  sky, — the  raging  storm, — the  waves  break- 
ing wildly  over  the  rocks,  and  threatening  every 
moment  to  swallow  up  the  broken  vessel, — and  the 
half-frozen  beings  who  maintained  their  icy  hold  on 
life,  lost  to  reason,  and  to  duty,  or  fighting  fiercely 
with  each  other. 

Some  lay  in  disgusting  stupidity;  others,  with 
fiery  faces,  blasphemed  God.  Some,  in  temporary 
delirium,  fancied  themselves  in  palaces,  surrounded 
by  luxury,  and  brutally  abused  the  servants,  who 
they  supposed,  refused  to  do  their  bidding. 

Others  there  were,  who  amid  the  beating  of  that 
pitiless  tempest,  believed  themselves  in  the  homes 
that  they  never  more  must  see,  and  with  hollow,  re- 
proachful voices,  besought  bread,  and  wondered  why 
water  was  withheld  from  them  by  the  hands  that 
were  most  dear. 

A  few,  whose  worst  passions  were  quickened  by 
alcohol,  to  a  fiend-like  fury,  assaulted  or  wounded 
those  who  came  in  their  way,  making  their  shrieks 
6 


C2 

of  defiance,  and  their  curses  heard  above  the  roar 
of  the  storm.  Intemperance  never  displayed  itself 
in  more  distressing  attitudes. 

At  length,  Death  began  to  do  his  work.  The  mis- 
erable creatures  fell  every  hour  upon  the  deck,  fro- 
zen stiff  and  hard.  Each  corpse,  as  it  became 
breathless,  was  laid  upon  a  heap  of  dead,  that  more 
space  might  be  left  for  the  survivors.  Those  who 
drank  most  freely,  were  the  first  to  perish. 

On  the  third  day  of  these  horrors,  the  inhabitants 
of  Plymouth,  after  making  many  ineffectual  attempts, 
reached  the  wreck,  not  without  danger.  What  a 
melancholy  spectacle  !  Lifeless  bodies,  hardened  in- 
to every  form,  that  suffering  could  devise. 

Many  lay  in  a  vast  pile.  Others  sat,  with  their 
heads  reclining  on  their  knees ;  others,  grasping 
the  ice-covered  ropes ;  some  in  a  posture  of  defence 
like  the  dying  gladiator :  and  others,  with  hands 
held  up  to  heaven,  as  if  deprecating  their  awful 
fate. 

Orders  were  given  to  search  earnestly  for  every 
mark  or  sign  of  life.  One  boy  was  distinguished 
amid  a  mass  of  dead,  only  by  the  trembling  of  one  of 
his  eye-lids.  The  poor  survivors  were  kindly  received 
into  the  houses  of  the  people  of  Plymouth,  and  every 
effort  used  for  their  restoration. 

The  captain  and  lieutenant,  and  a  few  others,  who 
had  abstained  from  the  use  of  ardent  spirits,  sur- 
vived. The  remainder  were  buried,  some  in  sepa- 
rate graves,  and  others  in  a  large  pit,  whose  hollow 
is  still  to  be  seen,  on  the  south-west  side  of  the  bu- 
rial ground  in  Plymouth. 

The  funeral  obsequies  were  most  solemn.    When 


THE   TREMBLING   EYE-LID.  63 

the  clergyman,  who  was  to  perform  the  last  services, 
first  entered,  the  church,  and  saw  more  than  seventy- 
dead  bodies,  some  fixing  upon  him  their  stony  eyes, 
and  others,  with  faces  stiffened  into  the  horrible  ex- 
pression of  their  last  mortal  agony,  he  was  so  af- 
fected, as  to  faint. 

Some,  were  brought  on  shore  alive,  and  received 
every  attention,  but  survived  only  a  short  time. 
Others,  were  restored  after  long  sickness,  but  with 
limbs  so  injured  by  frost,  as  to  become  cripples  for 
life. 

In  a  village,  at  some  distance  from  Plymouth,  a 
widowed  mother,  with  her  daughter,  were  seen  con- 
stantly attending  a  couch,  on  which  lay  a  sufferer. 
It  was  the  boy,  whose  trembling  eye-lid  attracted  the 
notice  of  pity,  as  he  lay  among  the  deadJ 

"  Mother,  he  said,  in  a  feeble  tone,  God  bless  you 
for  having  taught  me  to  avoid  ardent  spirits.  It  was 
this  that  saved  me.  After  those  around  me  grew 
intoxicated,  I  had  enough  to  do,  to  protect  myself 
from  them. 

Some  attacked,  and  dared  me  to  fight ;  others 
pressed  the  poisonous  draught  to  my  lips,  and  bade 
me  drink.  My  lips  and  throat  were  parched  with 
thirst.  But  I  knew  if  I  drank  with  them,  I  must 
lose  my  reason  as  they  did,  and  perhaps,  blas- 
pheme my  Maker. 

One  by  one,  they  died,  those  poor,  infuriated 
wretches.  Their  shrieks  and  groans,  still  seem  to 
ring  in  my  ears.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  captain  and 
other  officers,  and  a  few  good  men,  warned  them  of 
what  would  ensue,  if  they  thus  continued  to  drink, 


64  the  boy's  book. 

and  tried  every  method  in  their  power,  to  restore 
them  to  order. 

They  still  fed  upon  the  fiery  liquor.  They  grew 
delirious.  They  died  in  heaps.  Dear  mother,  our 
sufferings  from  hunger  and  cold,  you  cannot  imagine. 
After  my  feet  were  frozen,  but  before  I  lost  the  use 
of  my  hands,  I  discovered  a  box,  among  fragments 
of  the  wreck,  far  under  water. 

I  toiled  with  a  rope  to  drag  it  up.  But  my  strength 
was  not  sufficient.  A  comrade,  who  was  still  able 
to  move  a  little,  assisted  me.  At  length,  it  came 
within  our  reach.  We  hoped  that  it  might  contain 
bread,  and  took  courage. 

Uniting  our  strength,  we  burst  it  open.  It  con- 
tained only  a  few  bottles  of  olive  oil.  Yet  we  gave 
God  thank*  For  we  found  that  by  occasionally 
moistening  our  lips  with  it,  and  swallowing  a  little, 
it  allayed  the  gnawing,  burning  pain  in  the  stomach. 

Then  my  comrade  died.  And  I  laid  beside  him, 
like  a  corpse,  surrounded  by  corpses.  Presently, 
the  violence  of  the  tempest,  that  had  so  long  raged, 
subsided,  and  I  heard  quick  footsteps,  and  strange 
voices  amid  the  wreck,  where  we  lay. 

They  were  the  blessed  people  of  Plymouth,  who 
had  dared  every  danger,  to  save  us.  They  lifted  in 
their  arms,  and  wrapped  in  blankets,  all  who  could 
speak.  Then  they  earnestly  sought  all  who  could 
move.    But  every  drunkard,  was  among  the  dead. 

And  I  was  so  exhausted  with  toil,  and  suffering* 
and  cold,  that  I  could  not  stretch  a  hand  to  my  de- 
liverers. They  passed  me  again  and  again.  They 
carried  the  living  to  the  boat.  I  feared  that  I  was 
left  behind. 


FILIAL   VIRTUES   OF  WASHINGTON.  65 

Then  I  prayed  earnestly,  in  my  heart,  "  Oh  Lord, 
for  the  sake  of  my  widowed  mother, — for  the  sake 
of  my  dear  sister,  save  me."  I  believed  that  the 
last  man  had  gone,  and  besought  the  Redeemer  to 
receive  my  spirit. 

But  I  felt  a  warm  breath  on  my  face.  I  strained 
every  nerve.  My  whole  soul  strove  and  shuddered 
within  me.  Still  my  body  was  immoveable  as  mar- 
ble. Then  a  loud  voice  said,  "  Come  back,  and  help 
me  out  with  this  poor  lad.  One  of  his  eye-lids  trem- 
bles.   He  lives." 

"  Oh,  the  music  of  that  voice  to  me !  The  trembling 
eye-lid,  and  the  prayer  to  God,  and  your  lessons  of 
temperance,  my  mother,  saved  me."  Then  the  lov- 
ing sister  embraced  him  with  tears,  and  the  mother 
said,  "praise  be  to  Him  who  hath  spared  my  son,  to 
be  the  comfort  of  my  age." 


FILIAL  VIRTUES  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Some  of  the  most  interesting  anecdotes  of  the 
early  years  of  Washington,  are  such  as  connect  him 
with  his  mother,  or  were  derived  from  her  narrations. 
She  was  a  dignified  and  excellent  woman,  and  is  re- 
membered with  respect  and  love,  by  all  who  had  the 
honour  of  her  acquaintance. 

Her  husband  died,  while  their  children  were  young. 
So,  she  had  the  sole  care  of  their  government  and 
education.  For  this  great  charge  she  was  eminently 
6* 


g5  THE   BOT  S    BOOK. 

qualified.  She  was  often  asked  what  course  she  had 
pursued,  in  training  up  her  illustrious  son.  And 
her  reply  was,  "  I  only  required  obedience,  diligence, 
and  truth." 

These  were  the  simple  rules  by  which  Washing- 
ton became  good  and  great.  They  were  wrought  in 
with  the  elements  of  his  character,  until  his  good- 
ness, became  greatness,  and  his  greatness,  goodness. 
Is  there  any  thing,  in  these  three  precepts  of  obe- 
dience, diligence,  and  truth,  which  those  who  read 
this  book,  are  unwilling  or  careless  to  observe  1 
Washington,  when  a  boy,  was  taught  to  be  ac- 
curate in  all  his  statements.  He  told  things  exactly 
as  they  were,  and  repeated  words  just  as  they  had 
been  spoken.  If  he  had  committed  a  fault,  he  did 
not  try  to  conceal  it,  or  lay  the  blame  upon  others. 

Whatever  his  errors  were,  and  the  best  child  in 
the  world,  sometimes  does  wrong,  he  always  spoke 
of  them  to  his  mother,  without  disguise,  and  with- 
out delay.  This  was  the  foundation  of  that  noble 
frankness,  and  contempt  of  deceit,  which  distinguish- 
ed him  through  life,  and  made  him  revered  by  all. 

Once,  from  an  indiscretion  of  his  boyhood,  a  con- 
siderable loss  was  incurred.  He  knew  that  it  would 
interfere  with  favourite  plans  of  his  mother,  give 
pain  to  her  feelings,  and  perhaps  awaken  her  severe 
displeasure.  But  he  did  not  hesitate  in  his  duty. 
He  went  immediately  to  her,  and  made  a  full  ac- 
knowledgment;  and  she  said,  "I  had  rather  this 
should  have  taken  place,  than  my  son  should  be 
guilty  of  a  falsehood." 

She  was  careful  not  to  injure  him  by  indulgence, 
or  luxurious  food.    She  required  him  to  rise  early. 


FILIAL   VIRTUES   OF  WASHINGTON.  67 

and  never  permitted  him  to  be  idle.  Labours  were 
sometimes  assigned  him,  which  the  children  of 
wealthy  parents  might  have  accounted  severe.  Thus 
he  acquired  strength,  firmness  of  frame,  and  disre- 
gard of  hardship. 

He  was  taught  to  have  certain  hours,  for  certain 
employments,  and  to  be  punctual.  The  systematic 
improvement  of  time,  thus  early  taught,  was  of  im- 
mense service,  when  the  mighty  concerns  of  a  na- 
tion devolved  on  him.  Then  he  found  leisure  for 
the  transaction  of  the  smallest  affairs,  in  the  midst 
of  the  most  important  and  conflicting  duties. 

Tt  was  observed,  by  those  who  surrounded  his  per- 
son that  he  neglected  nothing,  and  was  never  known 
to  be  in  a  hurry.  He  was  remarkable  for  neatness, 
yet  spent  but  little  time  in  arranging  his  dress. 

When  our  country  was  in  a  perilous  situation,  and 
he  was  occupied  with  its  most  perplexing  affairs,  no 
part  of  his  dress  betrayed  negligence,  and  no  haste 
of  manner,  showed  absence  of  mind.  He  was  un- 
disturbed by  such  accidents,  as  irritate  those  who 
have  not  learned  to  govern  their  tempers. 

His  habits  of  early  rising,  and  strict  attention  to 
order,  gave  him  time  for  every  thing,  so  that  the 
pressure  of  public  business,  never  rendered  him  in- 
attentive to  private  duty,  domestic  courtesy,  or  kind 
hospitality.  In  winter,  he  rose  two  hours  before  day, 
and  in  summer  was  ready  to  enjoy  the  freshness  and 
beauty  of  the  dawn. 

Such  benefits  did  a  man,  whom  the  world  beheld 
with  admiration,  derive  from  the  counsels  of  a  mo- 
ther, who  accustomed  him  to  habits  of  early  rising, 
order,   and  industry.     His  obedience  to  her,   was 


68  the  boy's  book. 

cheerful  and  unvarying.  Even  after  he  attained 
mature  years,  and  a  nation  regarded  him  as  its  de- 
liverer and  ruler,  the  expression  of  her  slightest 
wish  was  a  law. 

From  childhood,  he  repaid  her  care  with  the  deep- 
est affection,  and  yielded  his  will  to  her's,  without  a 
murmur.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  having  read  many 
voyages,  he  conceived  a  desire  to  go  to  sea.  The 
office  of  a  midshipman  had  been  prepared  for  him, 
and  every  thing  was  in  readiness  for  his  departure. 

Preparing  to  take  leave  of  his  mother,  he  found 
her  more  distressed  than  he  had  ever  seen  her,  and 
discovered  that  she  had  not  fully  stated  to  him  her 
objections  to  this  mode  of  life.  He  threw  himself 
into  her  arms,  and  offered  to  relinquish  his  favourite 
purpose,  if  she  desired.  She  accepted  the  noble  sac- 
rifice. 

He  watched  from  the  window,  the  boat  which  was 
conveying  the  officers  to  the  ship,  and  in  which  his 
own  baggage  had  been  placed.  The  bright  antici- 
pations which  he  had  long  cherished,  faded  away. 
His  mother  inquired,  if  he  regretted  his  resolution  to 
remain.  «*  Indeed,  said  he,  I  strongly  wished  to  go, 
but  I  cannot  make  you  unhappy."  "  God  will  re- 
ward your  filial  affection,  my  son,"  was  the  answer. 

Her  influence  over  him,  was  strengthened  by  the 
dignity  with  which  true  piety  invested  her.  This 
gave  her  elevation  of  feeling,  and  serenity  of  mind. 
During  many  periods  of  our  revolution,  the  fears  of 
the  people  were  distressing,  even  to  despondence. 
Mistaken  reports  were  often  in  circulation,  which 
agonized  the  hearts  of  those,  whose  friends  were  ex- 
posed to  danger. 


FILIAL  VIRTUES   OF  WASHINGTON.  69 

More  than  once  was  the  Mother  of  Washington 
told,  that  our  army  was  defeated,  and  her  son  a 
prisoner.  "  He  is  in  the  hand  of  God,  was  her  re- 
ply ;  and  has  been  accustomed  to  act  in  difficult 
situations." 

Again,  it  would  be  announced  to  her,  "a  great 
victory  has  been  gained  by  Washington."  And  she 
answered,  "  Give  the  praise  to  God."  Such  equa- 
nimity, and  constant  presence  of  mind,  arose  from 
the  inspiring  confidence  of  a  Christian's  faith. 

At  length,  the  blessings  of  peace  and  indepen- 
dence, were  granted  to  our  nation ;  and  Washington, 
who  for  eight  years,  had  been  divided  from  the  com- 
forts of  home,  hasted  with  filial  reverence,  to  receive 
his  mother's  blessing.  He,  who  had  been  pro- 
nounced "  first  in  war,  first  in  peace,  first  in  the 
hearts  of  his  country-men,"  came  to  lay  his  honours 
at  her  feet,  who  planted  the  seeds  of  virtue  in  his 
soul. 

When  a  grateful  nation,  by  electing  him  its  first 
President,  conferred  on  him,  the  highest  gift  in  its 
power  to  bestow,  he  waited  on  his  mother,  at  her  resi- 
dence in  Fredericksburg,  to  inform  her  of  his  ap- 
pointment. He  was  now  illustrious  and  applauded, 
both  by  the  Old  and  New  World.  He  had  lived 
more  than  half  a  century,  without  a  stain  upon  his 
fame. 

Yet  he  bowed  down  with  the  same  deep  reverence 
to  his  maternal  guide,  as  when  in  childhood,  he 
learned  his  lessons  at  her  knee,  or  repeated  from 
the  Bible,  "  my  son,  forsake  not  the  law  of  thy  mo- 
ther." 

As  she  advanced  in  years,  he  affectionately  urged 


70  THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 

her  to  make  Mount- Vernon  her  home, — that  he  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  daily  studying  her  wishes,  and 
promoting  her  comfort.  This  filial  request  was  sooth- 
ing to  her  feelings, — but  she  preferred  to  remain  in 
her  own  retired  abode. 

There  was  a  beautiful  spot  near  her  dwelling, 
shaded  with  trees,  and  covered  with  the  freshest 
turf,  where  she  frequently  resorted,  when  the  wea- 
ther would  permit,  for  reading,  meditation,  and 
prayer.  Of  this  secluded  retreat,  she  said  to  her 
son,  "Let  me  be  buried  there,  when  God  shall  call 
my  spirit  to  himself."  Washington  held  this  com- 
mand most  sacred. 

When  at  a  very  advanced  age,  his  mother  was 
summoned  to  meet  that  Being,  whom  she  had  trusted 
in  youth,  he  hastened  to  give  her  the  last  proofs  of 
his  affection.  He  tenderly  hung  over  her,  as  she 
breathed  her  last,  and  with  pious  grief  closed  her 
eyes. 

In  obedience  to  her  request,  he  laid  her,  in  the 
shady,  secluded  dell,  where  she  had  chosen  her 
grave.  There,  beneath  those  trees,  where  she  had 
so  long  been  accustomed  to  hold  devout  communion 
with  her  Maker,  she  slept,  for  many  years,  without  a 
stone. 

Travellers,  who  have  visited  Mount- Vernon,  often 
repaired  to  the  lowly  bed  of  the  honoured  matron, 
whom  the  father  of  his  country  so  strongly  resem- 
bled, both  in  person,  and  in  mind.  Her  tomb  is  now 
designated  by  a  tasteful  marble  monument,  bearing 
the  beautiful  inscription, 

"  Mary,  the  mother  of  Washington." 


FILIAL  VIRTUES   OF  WASHINGTON.  71 

It  would  be  easy  to  adduce  many  examples  of  cele- 
brated men,  who  were  distinguished  for  filial  af- 
fection, and  on  whom  a  widowed  mother  has  reposed 
every  care,  with  entire  confidence.  When  Fulton, 
the  inventor  of  the  steam-boat,  was  young,  he  had 
no  means  of  acquiring  a  subsistence,  but  by  his 
own  industry. 

He  had  a  taste  for  drawing  and  painting,  and  by 
employments  of  this  kind,  obtained  a  supply  for  his 
wants.  But  the  first  considerable  sum,  which  he 
ever  earned,  he  immediately,  and  joyfully  expended, 
to  purchase  a  small  farm  for  his  mother. 

"  What  would  I  give,"  said  the  talented  Charles 
Lamb,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  What  would  I  give 
to  call  back  to  earth,  my  mother,  but  for  one  day, 
on  my  knees  to  ask  her  pardon,  for  all  those  little 
asperities  of  temper,  which  from  time  to  time,  have 
give*  her  gentle  spirit  pain.  Oh,  my  friend,  culti- 
vate filial  feelings." 

We  have  now  seen  the  illustrious  Washington, 
the  leader  of  a  victorious  army,  the  first  magistrate 
of  a  grateful  people,  and  the  object  of  admiration  to 
the  civilized  world,  in  the  character  of  an  obedient, 
affectionate  son.  We  have  traced  his  virtues  back, 
to  that  submission  to  maternal  authority,  which 
marked  his  early  yea:*3. 

We  have  seen  visibly  descending  on  him,  that 
blessing  promised  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  to  those 
who  honour  their  parents.  She,  whom  he  ever  re- 
garded with  such  tenderness  and  reverence,  said 
he,  "  learned  to  command  others,  by  first  learning  to 
obey." 

We  remember,  that  it  is  written  of  one  far  greater 


72  the  boy's  book. 

than  Washington,  that  "he  was  subject  unto  his 
mother."  Let  no  son  imagine  that  it  is  manly  to 
despise  the  authority  of  a  mother,  or  that  God  will 
forget  to  punish  disobedience  and  disrespect. 

Those  who  in  the  morning  of  life,  are  ambitious 
of  future  eminence,  should  lay  the  foundation  m  fil- 
ial virtue.  Let  them  not  expect  to  be  either  fortu- 
nate or  happy,  while  they  neglect  the  injunction, 
"My  son,  keep  thy  father's  commandment,  and  for- 
sake not  the  law  of  thy  mother.', 


WINTER. 


« I  wish  the  whole  year  was  but  one  long  sum- 
mer," said  a  little  girl,  to  her  brother.  "  I  so  love  to 
run  on  the  green  grass,  and  to  take  care  of  my 
flowers,  and  I  cannot  bear  to  see  them  go  under  the 
frozen  ground,  and  be  covered  with  the  cold  ice  and 

snow."  .  _„ 

»  Sister,  we  boys  would  not  agree  with  you.  We 
should  vote  for  the  winter,— the  sliding  down  hill, 
and  the  skating.  We  do  not  mind  the  cold ;  it  only 
calls  more  blood  into  the  cheeks,  and  makes  us  bold 
and  vigorous." 

The  mother,  who  listened  to  their  conversation, 
said,  "My  children,  every  season  has  its  beauties. 
Each,  is  the  gift  of  a  Being  of  love  and  wisdom.  No 
doubt  their  change,  heightens  our  enjoyment.    Yet, 


WINTER.  73 

I  have  often  thought,  that  winter  did  not  have  its 
due." 

Let  us  inquire  into  the  case,  and  see  if  we  cannot 
give  Winter  its  due.  It  is  very  generally  spoken 
against,  especially  by  delicate  ladies,  and  invalids. 
We  would  desire  to  be  just  to  every  thing.  So,  let 
us  seek  out  the  merits  of  the  season  of  ice  and 
snow. 

Spring  gives  us  buds,  Summer,  flowers,  and 
Autumn,  fruit.  But  Winter  brings  frost,  and  icicles, 
and  piercing  cold.  The  drifted  snow  lies  deep  on 
the  plain.  The  bleak  winds  blow.  Storms  confine 
us  to  the  house,  or  we  go  out  in  them,  and  feel  un- 
comfortable, perhaps  complain. 

Still,  this  dreary  season,  has  some  redeeming  vir- 
tues. In  summer,  men  travel  about;  they  wander 
wide  in  pursuit  of  pleasures.  In  winter,  they  seek 
happiness  at.  home.  Then  the  sweet  affections  of 
the  heart,  blossom ;  and  the  blessed  charities,  whose 
seeds  are  sown  by  the  fireside,  are  brought  to  great- 
er perfection. 

The  little  babe  sees  more  of  its  father,  whose  busi- 
ness calls  him  less  from  home.  It  sits  longer  upon 
his  knee,  and  imprints  many  kisses  upon  his  cheek, 
and  winds  itself  more  closely  round  his  heart.  The 
boy  sits  with  his  books  by  the  lamp,  and  talks  of 
his  lessons  with  his  mother;  and  the  knowledge 
which  her  love  softens,  is  sweet  to  his  soul. 

Under  the  burning  suns  of  summer,  the  farmer 

works  and  is  wearied.    The  short  nights,  scarcely 

refresh  him,  after  the  labour  of  the  long  days.    But 

the  winter  is  a  time  of  rest.    He  sits  with  his  family 

7 


74  the  boy's  book. 

around  him,  by  the  evening  fireside,  and  reads,  and 
meditates,  and  gathers  wisdom. 

The  long  evening,  and  the  cheerful  fire,  open 
heart  to  heart.  Social  feelings  expand,  and  friend* 
ships  flourish.  The  student  gains  more  time  for 
meditation.  Winter-knowledge  strikes  a  deeper 
root;  for  the  beautiful  things  of  summer  dissipate 
thought,  and  make  the  mind  desultory. 

Nature  enjoys  repose.  The  trees  cease  from  the 
labour  of  putting  forth  leaves,  and  the  plants, 
willingly  lay  their  meek  heads  in  the  snow-cradle. 
The  stream  stays  its  hurrying  foot,  and  the  cascade 
rests  from  its  leaping.  The  furrowed  earth,  enjoys 
a  sabbath,  and  prepares  to  meet  with  renewed  vigour 
the  season  of  toil. 

Winter,  is  also  the  time  for  quickening  sympathy 
and  benevolence.  The  poor  need  fuel,  and  food. 
The  shivering  child  must  be  clad.  Go  into  the  cold 
habitations  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  penury. 
See  what  the  sick  and  the  sorrowful  need,  and  report 
their  cases  to  those  who  have  power  to  relieve  them. 
So,  shall  you  return  to  your  own  comfortable  dwell- 
ing, with  deeper  gratitude,  and  the  thought  of  having 
soothed  others'  pain,  shall  give  you  higher,  and 
more  sacred  joy. 

Were  there  no  winter,  there  would  be  less  of  pru- 
dent and  provident  foresight,  in  the  world.  This  is 
a  virtue,  and  it  strengthens  by  exercise.  The  father 
thinks,  during  the  mild  season,  what  will  be  neces- 
sary to  make  his  family  comfortable,  for  approach* 
ing  winter.  The  mother  calculates  what  garment* 
will  be  needed  to  shield  her  little  ones. 

In  those  cares  there  is  comfort,  because  they  ar$ 


SHELL-FISHES.  7*> 

duties*  They  are  such  cares  as.  quicken  industry, 
and  strengthen  judgment^  and  deepen  affection.  If 
there  was  no  winter,,  to  call  them  into  habitual  ex- 
ercise, the  butterfly  might  have  a  longer  time  to 
flaunt,  but  the  ants  would  lose  their  distinctive  ex- 
cellence, and  the  honey  of  the  bee  would  have  a 
slighter  value. 

Are  there  not  some  stores,  which  are  laid  up  in 
autumn,  to  enliven  the  winter-evening'? — the  ruddy 
apple  ? — the  enduring  pear  ] — the  varied  nuts  of  the 
forest?  So  there  are  treasures,  which  may  belaid 
up  in  winter,,  for  other  seasons, — kind  recollections, 
— useful  knowledge, — active  sympathies.  The  ker- 
nels of  such  nuts  are  sweet.  The  essence  of  such 
fruit  does  not  decay.  Time  cannot,  impair  their  fla- 
vour.    Let  us  lay  them  up  in  abundance. 

Why  should  we  complain  so  much  of  a  season, 
that  brings  us  the  buds  of  affection, — the  flowers  of 
benevolence, — the  fruits  of  wisdom  1  If  winter  has 
in  it  some  mixture  of  discipline,,  let  us  receive  it 
meekly,  with  a  conviction,  that  it  is  for  our  good. 
So,  shall  our  winters  be  remembered  in  that  world 
where  no  ice  binds  the  pure  stream*  and  where 
there  is  neither  storm  nor  tempest. 


SHELL-FISHES. 

We  lcnow  very  little  of  the  habits  of  the  smaller 
inhabitants  of  the  deep.  Naturalists  divide  them 
into  a  great  number  of  classes.    Some  of  these,  are 


76  the  boy's  book. 

called  testaceous ;  others  crustaceous.  The  former 
have  a  hard,  permanent  shell,  capable  of  growth ; 
the  latter  have  a  thinner  covering,  which  may  be 
cast  off  for  a  new  one  to  grow.  The  oyster  is  tes- 
taceous ;  the  lobster,  crustaceous. 

You  have  doubtless,  often  admired  the  variety 
and  delicacy  of  those  exquisitely  pencilled  shells, 
which  ornament  so  many  parlours  and  cabinets. 
They  display  His  skill,  who  has  given  to  the  birds 
their  brilliant  plumage,  and  to  the  wild  flowers  of 
the  field,  their  beauty. 

i  In  treatises  of  Conchology,  you  will  find  thou- 
sands of  shells  classified  and  arranged,  according  to 
their  respective  orders.  We  cannot  here  give  even 
a  sketch  of  the  outlines  of  so  extensive  a  science. 
All  that  will  be  attempted,  is  to  give  a  few  traits  of 
character,  of  some  of  the  tenants,  of  those  curious 
mansions. 

The  Pinnae,  has  the  power  of  throwing  out  fine, 
silken  threads.  Hence  it  has  been  sometimes  called 
the  "  silk- worm  of  the  ocean."  It  adheres  strongly 
to  rocks,  by  a  thick  tuft  of  these  threads.  When 
broken  off'  and  cleansed,  they  are  capable  of  being 
made  into  useful  articles  of  dress. 

A  manufactory  of  gloves  and  stockings,  from  the 
silk  of  the  Pinnae,  is  established  at  Palermo,  in  Sicily. 
The  females  there,  sometimes  steep  it  in  strong  acid, 
and  then  press  it  with  a  warm  iron,  which  imparts 
a  beautiful  yellow-brown  colour,  like  the  burnished 
gold  of  a  beetle's  wing. 

The  Pinnoe,  this  industrious  silk-spinner,  is  entire- 
ly blind.  But  it  lodges  in  its  own  shell,  a  small,  quick- 
sighted  crab.    This  tenant  goes  out  to  provide  food, 


SHELL-FISHES.  77 

and  at  returning,  taps  gently  at  the  door  of  its  blind 
landlord,  who  readily  opens  to  receive  it. 

Still  it  is  not  satisfied  with  paying  for  its  lodging 
in  provisions.  It  performs  a  higher  office,  by  an- 
nouncing when  the  cuttle-fish, — the  mortal  foe  of  the 
Pinnse,  is  near ;  and  thus  often  saves  the  life  of  its 
sightless  companion. 

This  league  of  friendship  and  defence,  under  the 
waters,  did  not  escape  the  observation  of  the  ancient 
naturalists.  Both  Pliny  and  Aristotle,  mention  that 
the  Pinnse,  was  never  unattended  by  this  faithful 
protector  and  provider,  who  was  literally,  "  eyes  to 
the  blind,  and  feet  to  the  lame." 

The  Solen,  or  Razor-Sheath,  obtains  this  name, 
from  a  resemblance  to  a  case  for  razors.  It  is  fur- 
nished with  an  apparatus  for  digging,  yet  cannot  as- 
pire to  the  honourable  title  of  gardener,  as  it  only 
excavates  a  hiding-place  for  itself.  If  the  sand  is 
soft,  it  is  able  to  dig  a  cell,  two  feet  in  depth,  where 
it  shuts  itself  up  at  pleasure,  like  a  solitary  student. 

The  Lepas,  or  Sea-Acorn,  when  the  waters  are 
boisterous,  shuts  its  little  door,  and  excludes  them, 
as  wre  do  the  storm.  It  adheres  very  closely  to 
rocks,  or  stones,  or  the  bottoms  of  vessels.  Sailors 
call  the  sea-acorns,  barnacles,  and  count  them  ene- 
mies, as  they  are  troublesome  to  ships.  A  very 
large,  old  whale,  was  taken  in  the  Pacific  Ocean, 
\  whose  head  was  rough,  with  multitudes  of  these 
shells. 

The  Chiton,  or  Coat  of  Mail,  has  a  shell,  like  a 

suit  of  ancient  armour.    Its  valves,  eight  in  number, 

are  so  constructed,  that  it  can  roll  itself  up  like  a  ball, 

when  it  chooses.    This  knight  of  the  deep  sea,  is 

7* 


78  the  boy's  book. 

often  seen  walking  among  the  rocks,  or  attached  to 
waving  wreaths  of  sea-weed  and  coral. 

The  Teredo,  has  the  power  of  penetrating  wood, 
and  derives  its  name  from  a  Greek  word,  signifying 
to  tore.  It  uses  one  pair  of  its  valves  as  flood-gates, 
to  admit  the  water  into  its  dwelling,  when  it  desires. 
It  clings  to  the  sides  and  bottoms  of  ships,  and  other 
timber,  which  it  perforates. 

The  Pholas,  like  a  mason,  opens  for  itself  an  en- 
trance into  stone.  There  it  hides  whenever  it 
chooses  to  be  concealed.  Its  name,  which  is  from 
the  Greek,  signifies  something  hidden.  Though  its 
movements  are  slow,  it  succeeds,  in  penetrating  the 
hardest  rocks,  even  when  it  is  young  and  feeble; 
and  thus  gives  us  from  its  cell  in  the  deep  sea,  a  les- 
son of  perseverance. 

The  Soldier-snail,  if  it  sees  a  shell  that  suits  its 
fancy,  and  finds  the  inhabitant  weaker  than  itself, 
wounds,  dislodges  it,  and  takes  possession,  in  the 
true  spirit  of  a  robber  chieftain.  There  it  keeps 
guard, — its  head  and  claws  protruding,  ready  to  de- 
fend the  stolen  fortress. 

The  Trochus,  is  a  pirate.  With  its  strong  trunk, 
toothed  at  the  extremity  like  a  saw,  it  forces  its  way, 
through  the  most  impenetrable  shell,  and  devours  the 
tenant.  When  it  once  grapples,  nothing  can  dis- 
lodge it,  and  it  is  sometimes  weeks  in  feeding  on  the 
vitals  of  its  prey.  Multitudes  of  shells  thrown  up 
on  the  beach,  pierced  with  round  holes,  attest  its 
ravages. 

The  depths  of  the  sea,  like  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  have  some  characters,  that  are  willing  to 
over-reach    their    neighbours.      Lobsters,    trouble 


SHELL-FISHES.  7() 

oysters,  and  lie  in  wait  to  eat  them.  When  the 
oyster  opens  its  shell,  for  fresh  air,  or  a  draught  of 
water,  its  crustaceous  friend  is  ready  to  dart  upon  it. 

A  fine,  fat  oyster  was  once  observed  upon  the 
beach,  opening  its  door,  to  meet  the  approaching 
tide.  A  lobster  put  forth  its  red  hands  to  sieze  the 
prey,  thrice,  but  in  vain.  It  waited  until  the  oyster 
should  open  the  fourth  time,  and  then  cunningly 
threw  a  pebble  between  the  valves,  which  prevented 
them  from  closing,  and  thus  enjoyed  the  spoil  at  its 
leisure. 

When  Scallop-Shells  find  themselves  deserted  by 
the  tide,  they  open  their  valves  as  wide  as  possible, 
and  continue  to  take  long  leaps,  until  they  reach 
their  native  element.  Testaceous  animals,  can  en- 
large their  habitations,  repair  them  when  they  are 
injured,  and  stain  them  of  various  colours. 

The  Argonaut  raises  itself  to  the  surface  of  the 
water,  when  it  chooses.  If  it  is  calm,  it  throws 
out  two  or  more  little  arms,  for  oars ;  if  a  breeze 
springs  up,  it  spreads  a  fine  membrane,  as  a  sail, 
and  scuds  before  the  wind.  If  it  is  apprehensive  of 
danger,  it  suddenly  draws  in  a  quantity  of  water, 
whose  weight  sinks  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

The  Nautilus  inhabits  a  pearly  palace,  containing 
thirty  or  forty  apartments.  Its  own  residence  is  in 
the  largest  one,  which  communicates  with  all  the 
rest.  In  fine  weather,  little  fleets  of  the  Nautilus 
may  be  seen,  fearlessly  steering  over  the  mighty 
ocean. 

To  the  skill  of  these  tiny,  and  most  expert  sailors, 
guiding  their  frail,  and  beautiful  barks  over  the 
fathomless  waters,  it  is  said  the  art  of  navigation 


80  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

owes  its  origin.    A  fine  poet  gives  them  the  honour 
of  being  teachers  to  the  mariner  : — 

"  Learn  of  the  little  Nautilus  to  sail, 
Spread  the  thin  oar,  and  catch  the  driving  gale." 


The  Chama-Gigas,  or  the  Giant-Clam,  is  the  largest 
of  all  the  testaceous  tribes.  Linnaeus  mentions  one, 
which  weighed  four  hundred  and  ninety-eight 
pounds,  and  furnished  a  day's  provision  for  one 
hundred  and  twenty  men ;  and  the  violent  closing  of 
whose  valves,  could  snap  a  cable  in  sunder.  Sir 
Joseph  Banks  has  recorded  that  one  weighing  five 
hundred  and  seven  pounds,  was  found  in  the  island 
of  Sumatra. 

A  shell  of  this  kind,  is  placed  on  a  table,  at  Ply- 
mouth, when  the  anniversary  of  the  landing  of  the 
ancestors  of  New-England  is  celebrated.  A  very  large 
one,  which  was  given  by  the  Venetians,  to  Francis  the 
First,  of  France,  is  still  used  as  a  baptismal  font,  in 
the  church  of  St.  Sulpice,  at  Paris. 

Some  of  the  varieties  of  the  Oyster,  have  colour- 
ed shells,  and  the  power  of  leaping  to  a  considerable 
distance.  Darting  through  the  billows,  with  their 
brilliant  sparkling  tints,  they  have  sometimes  ob- 
tained the  appellation  of  the  "butterflies  of  the 
ocean." 

The  Ostrea-Arborea,  or  Tree-Oyster,  is  found  at- 
tached to  shrubs  or  roots,  which  extend  into  sheltered 
bays,  harbours,  or  rivers.  In  tropical  regions,  it  often 
presents  a  finely  variegated  mixture  of  vivid  colours  ; 
and  when  a  bough  thus  loaded,  is  washed  for  the 
table,  it  is  frequently  too  heavy  for  a  man  to  carry. 


SHELL-FISHES.  81 

The  Pearl-Oysters  afford  employment,  for  numer- 
ous fisheries.  The  largest,  and  even  the  smallest 
specimens,  which  are  called  seed-pearls,  have  always 
been  highly  valued  as  ornaments,  by  the  wealthy 
and  tasteful.  "  The  pearl  of  great  price,"  is  the 
image  chosen  by  our  Saviour,  to  express  the  purity 
and  precious  nature  of  the  Gospel. 

Many  divers  are  employed  in  searching  for  pearls. 
The  employment  is  dangerous,  and  destructive  to 
life.  It  is  so  painful,  especially  when  first  com- 
menced, that  blood  is  often  forced  from  the  ears, 
nose,  and  mouth. 

A  diver,  who  once  descended  into  the  straits  of 
Messina,  saw  there,  with  horror,  enormous  polypi, 
attached  to  the  rocks,  whose  arms,  several  feet  long, 
and  extending  in  every  direction,  might  strangle  the 
strongest  man  in  their  embrace.  The  shark,  also, 
with  its  hideous  jaws,  yawns  upon  the  daring  adven- 
turer. 

The  bottom  of  the  Adriatic,  has  been  ascertained 
to  be  a  compact  bed  of  shells,  of  a  great  thickness. 
That  of  the  Red-Sea,  is  a  forest  of  submarine  plants, 
madrepores,  sponges,  and  mosses,  interspersed  with 
grottoes,  where  the  coral  insect  is  busied,  among  its 
beautiful  creations. 

Sometimes  the  bed  of  the  sea,  presents  only  a  sur- 
face of  smooth,  bright  sand,  extending  hundreds  of 
miles.  In  many  parts,  near  America,  it  is  covered 
with  vegetable  formation,  and  looks  green  like  a 
meadow,  where  thousands  of  turtles  and  sea-mon- 
sters roam,  and  seek  their  food. 

An  English  vessel  once  stopped  at  the  barren  isl- 
and of  Ascension,  which  you  know  is  in  the  Atlan- 


82 

tic  Ocean,  in  seven  degrees  of  south  latitude,  not  far 
from  St.  Helena,  where  Buonaparte  died.  Turtles 
abound  there,  and  the  crew,  after  feasting  on  as 
many  as  they  desired,  undertook  to  carry  some 
home  with  them. 

But  all  their  captive  turtles  died  on  the  voyage, 
except  one,  who,  being  very  spirited,  and  having  lost 
an  arm,  before  it  would  be  taken,  they  named 
Lord  Nelson.  When  they  reached  England,  it  was 
languid,  and  almost  expiring.  So  they  amused 
themselves  with  cutting  its  name,  on  the  under  part 
of  its  shell,  and  threw  it  into  the  sea. 

Two  years  after,  the  same  vessel,  touched  at  the 
same  island.  The  sailors  were  again  busy  in  catch- 
ing turtles.  They  turned  a  large  one  upon  its  back, 
that  they  might  the  more  easily  take  it,  and  what 
did  they  see? — the  words  "Lord  Nelson"  engraved 
upon  it ! 

They  also  perceived  that  one  of  its  arms  was 
missing.  It  was  their  old  acquaintance.  But  who 
guided  it,  two  thousand  miles,  through  the  depths  of 
the  pathless  ocean,  to  its  own  home  ?  How  did  it 
defend  itself,  weak  and  wounded  as  it  was,  against 
the  ravenous  monsters,  of  the  deep,  dark  sea  1 

Is  home,  then,  as  dear  to  the  wandering  denizen 
of  the  ocean,  as  to  the  bird,  who,  returning  from  its 
annual  migration,  builds  its  nest  upon  the  same 
tree,  and  gathers  crumbs  from  the  same  threshold, 
where  its  last  unfledged  brood  were  reared  1  Who 
can  answer  us  this  question,  save  He  who  breathed 
life  into  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  deep  1 

We  admire  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  shell-pala- 
ces, which  are  occasionally  exhibited  to  our  view, 


PATRIOTISM.  83 

But  of  the  habits  and  instincts  of  their  tenants,  our 
knowledge  is  small.  Still,  in  the  fragments  which 
we  gather,  we  perceive  Infinite  Goodness  active  for 
the  frail,  as  well  as  the  mighty  habitants  of  the 
world  of  waters. 

How  beautiful  and  appropriate  are  the  words  of 
the  inspired  Psalmist,  "O  Lord,  how  manifold  are 
thy  works.  In  wisdom  hast  thou  made  them  all. 
The  earth  is  full  of  thy  riches.  So  also,  is  the 
great  and  wide  sea." 


PATRIOTISM. 


Patriotism,  is  to  be  willing  to  make  sacrifices,  and 
endure  hardships,  for  the  good  of  our  country.  His- 
tory gives  many  instances,  where  property,  has 
been  devoted,  and  life  itself  laid  down, — to  aid  in 
liberating  a  native  land  from  oppression. 

Patriots  often  become  illustrious  by  their  deeds,  and 
their  names  are  conspicuous  in  the  annals  of  history. 
Yet  there  is  much  true  patriotism,  on  a  humbler 
scale,  which  never  wins  the  notice  of  the  world.  An 
instance  of  this,  I  am  going  to  relate  to  you. 

During  the  contest  between  Great  Britain  and  the 
United  States,  which  is  called  the  revolutionary  war, 
our  army  endured  many  hardships,  especially  in  the 
severe  winter,  with  which  the  year  1779  closed,  and 
that  of  1780  began.  They  were  then  stationed  at 
Morristown,  in  New  Jersey. 

( 


84 

I  once  knew  a  soldier  of  the  revolution.  His  head 
was  white  as  if  covered  with  snow.  He  filled  a  re- 
spectable rank  in  society,  and  was  beloved  for  kind- 
ness of  heart  and  piety.  He  was  gratified  that  I 
asked  him  for  tales  of  other  days,  and  he  told  me 
the  following  story  of  the  winter  at  Morristown. 

"  Early  in  the  month  of  November,  1779,  said  he, 
our  army  under  General  Washington,  left  the  vicini- 
ty of  Hudson  River,  and  the  White  Plains,  to  go  into 
winter  quarters.  Snow  had  already  fallen, — so  that 
we  had  the  prospect  of  a  dreary  season. 

The  roads  were  in  a  most  uncomfortable  state, 
from  rain,  and  melting  snows,  and  we  marched  four 
days,  with  feet  and  limbs  continually  wet  and  cold. 
We  reached  Morristown,  weary  and  way-worn,  and 
were  permitted,  the  first  night,  to  sleep  in  the  houses 
and  barns  of  the  inhabitants. 

The  next  morning,  early,  we  were  ordered  two 
miles  northward,  to  a  thick,  dark  forest,  to  cut  down 
trees,  and  build  huts,  to  shelter  us  during  the  winter. 
Almost  every  day,  snow  fell,  and  the  cold  was  ex- 
treme. We  slept  on  the  frozen  ground,  wrapped  in 
a  single  blanket. 

We  worked  very  hard  to  complete  our  hovels  of 
logs.  In  about  a  week,  they  were  ready  to  admit  their 
tenants.  We  took  possession  of  these  rude,  dark  cab- 
ins, with  more  joy  than  a  king  enters  his  palace,  for 
we  better  knew  the  value  of  shelter  from  a  storm. 

We  now  hoped  to  pass  in  quietness,  the  dreary 
months,  till  Spring  should  call  us  forth,  to  the  ser- 
vice of  our  country.  But  greater  trials  awaited  us.  Ere 
long,  provisions  began  to  fail.  The  severe  cold,  had 
frozen  much  earlier  than  usual,  the  waters  of  the 


PATRIOTISM.  85 

Hudson  and  Delaware,  so  that  no  supplies  could  ar- 
rive by  boats. 

New-Jersey,  was  not  able,  for  any  length  of  time, 
to  provide  from  her  own  resources,  for  such  a  mul- 
titude. Our  daily  allowance  of  food,  was  reduced 
to  one  half.  Then,  to  a  quarter.  Only  four  ounces 
of  bread,  and  four  of  meat,  were  served  to  each 
man,  for  twenty-four  hours.  The  cravings  of  hun- 
ger were  intense. 

Still,  the  afflicting  scarcity  grew  more  severe. 
This  scanty  pittance  was  at  length  dealt  out,  only 
once  in  two  days.  But  the  suffering  was  borne  with 
astonishing  patience.  The  half-famished  soldiers 
sustained  themselves,  with  the  love  of  their  country, 
and  the  hope  of  better  times.  Some,  even  strove,  by 
amusing  and  playful  conversation,  to  keep  up  the 
spirits  of  their  comrades. 

A  deeper  trial  was  reserved  for  us.  Four  bitter 
wintry  days  and  nights,  not  a  morsel  of  food  was 
given  out.  None  could  be  procured.  The  strongest 
men  became  weak, — and  the  voices  of  the  more 
feeble,  grew  so  faint,  as  scarcely  to  be  audible. 
But  there  was  no  murmuring.  We  felt  it  was  the 
poverty  of  our  beloved  country,  that  we  were 
sharing, — and  believed,  that  in  God's  good  time,  re- 
lief would  come. 

After  this  dreadful  abstinence  of  four  days,  some 
wheat  was  obtained.  One  gill  of  raw  wheat,  was 
the  portion  for  each  soldier.  We  hastened  to  boil 
and  eat  it, — drinking  also  the  water,  in  which  it  had 
been  boiled. 

While  we  were  devouring  the  food,  a  gun  was 
heard  within  the  encampment.    A  lean,  miserable 
8 


86. 

dog  had  wandered  thither.  The  poor  animal  was 
immediately  shot,  and  cooked  for  some  of  the  of- 
ficers, who  were  so  reduced  by  famine,  as  to  be 
thankful  for  such  a  repast. 

Another  fast  of  four  days  ensued,  rendered  more 
painful,  by  the  extreme  cold ;  which  threatened  to 
turn  every  thing  into  ice.  On  the  fifth  morning,  be- 
fore the  sun  rose,  a  majestic  man  was  seen,  with 
the  bridle  of  his  horse  around  his  arm. 

He  stopped  at  the  door  of  every  hut.  He  af- 
fectionately asked  each  soldier  "how  Tie  fared."  It 
was  Washington.  Tears  escaped  from  his  eyes,  at 
the  sight  of  our  sorrows.  Only  the  night  before,  had 
he  learned  their  full  extent.  He  had  not  slept.  Ere 
the  dawn,  he  hastened,  notwithstanding  the  terrible 
cold,  to  visit  us. 

His  countenance,  and  words,  revealed  the  deepest 
sympathy.  At  the  sight  of  his  distress,  many 
cheerful  voices  exclaimed,  "  General,  we  do  not  com- 
plain. We  can  bear  this  longer,  if  it  is  the  will  of 
heaven.  We  are  ready  to  defend  our  country, 
whenever  you  call  us  to  the  field." 

This  patience  and  patriotism,  affected  Washington 
still  more  keenly.  He  could  scarcely  command  his 
voice,  as  he  thanked  and  blessed  them.  He  assured 
them,  that  if  it  were  in  the  power  of  man,  relief 
should  be  sent  them,  before  the  close  of  day. 

A  little  past  noon,  the  steward's  call  was  heard 
throughout  the  camp.  We  rushed  to  the  spot.  To 
each  of  us,  was  weighed  out,  four  ounces  of  beef,  as 
free  from  bone,  as  possible.  Overcome  by  the 
fierceness  of  appetite,  some  swallowed  it  raw,  as 
soon  as  it  reached  their  hands. 


PATRIOTISM.  87 

On  the  following  day,  we  received  four  ounces  of 
bread.  Much  in  the  same  manner,  our  food  con- 
tinued to  be  regularly,  though  scantily,  distributed, 
until  winter  was  past,  and  spring  recalled  us  to  other 
toils  and  perils. 

Yet  scarcity  of  provisions,  was  not  the  only  cause 
of  our  suffering  at  Morristown.  The  weather  was 
fearfully  severe,  and  our  clothing  old,  and  insufficient. 
Snow,  for  a  long  time  covered  the  ground,  to  the 
depth  of  three,  and  four  feet. 

During  more  than  six  weeks,  not  the  least  thawing 
was  perceived,  even  in  the  noon-day  sun.  No  water 
could  be  obtained  by  the  soldiers,  but  melted  ice 
and  snow.  They  were  generally  destitute  of  shoes, 
so  that  the  guard,  when  they  were  upon  duty,  might 
be  tracked  by  the  blood  from  their  feet,  reddening 
their  path  of  snow. 

But  every  hardship  was  bravely  endured,  for  the 
sake  of  the  love,  we  bare  our  country.  Looking 
with  hope  to  her  independence,  we  took  part  in 
her  hard  lot,  like  children  with  a  parent,  and 
suffered  hunger,  and  cold,  and  nakedness,  and  the 
want  of  all  things,  without  repining." 

Here  the  aged  man  finished  his  story,  and  when  I 
reflected  how  many  young  people  there  are,  who 
have  been  always  provided  with  food,  warm  clothing, 
and  a  comfortable  shelter,  and  yet  are  little  thankful 
for  such  favours,  perhaps,  sometimes  discontented,  I 
thought  it  might  be  well  for  them  to  hear,  how  nobly 
great  sufferings  were  endured,  by  men  of  other  times, 
who  loved  their  country. 

If  any  of  you  who  now  read  this  account,  should 
ever  travel  through   Morristown,   and    admire  its 


SO  THE   BOY  S    BOOK. 

beautiful  scenery  and  pure  atmosphere,  it  would  be 
well  to  search  out  the  spot,  where  our  army  were 
encamped,  during  that  severe  winter. 

It  would  be  cheering  to  those  who  have  borne 
such  hardships,  to  know  that  the  children  of  that 
country,  for  whose  liberties  they  toiled,  remember 
their  services  with  gratitude. — Become  acquainted 
with  the  forms  in  which  their  patriotism  was  tried  ; 
that  you  may  be  able  to  tell  your  own  children,  how 
the  blessings  of  our  free  government  were  purchased. 

Yet  while  we  praise  the  patriots  of  our  revolu- 
tion, let  us  never  forget  that  war  is  a  great  evil.  It 
must  ever  be  considered  so,  when  we  take  a  serious 
view  of  the  miseries  that  it  occasions.  Pain,  mourn- 
ing, and  death,  the  interruption  of  the  honest  pur- 
suits of  industry,  and  those  arts  of  peace,  which 
constitute  the  prosperity  of  a  nation,  are  in  its  train. 

Such  wars  as  are  rendered  necessary  for  self-de- 
fence, or  the  preservation  of  liberty,  cannot  be  repro- 
bated like  those  which  spring  from  the  promptings 
of  ambition,  or  the  desire  of  conquest.  Let  us  pray 
that  our  beloved  country  may  be  kept  from  the  evils 
of  war,  and  that  we  may  be  enabled  to  show  our 
patriotism,  not  in  the  field  of  battle,  but  by  setting 
an  example  of  every  virtue,  as  good  and  peaceful 
citizens. 


THE  ONLY  SON. 

Frank  Wilson   was  an   only  son.    His   parents 
were  among  the   most  respectable  people  in  the 


THE   ONLY   SON.  89 

town  where  they  resided.  They  were  very  indul- 
gent to  him.  He  was  a  well-disposed,  affectionate 
boy,  and  did  not  abuse  their  kindness. 

He  went  cheerfully  to  school,  and  came  regularly 
home,  and  was  content  to  do  what  his  father  and 
mother  thought  best.  This  good  conduct  gave  to 
his  countenance,  an  agreeable  expression ;  so  that 
people  were  in  the  habit  of  saying,  they  had  seldom 
seen  an  only  child  so  obedient  and  happy. 

He  had  an  unmarried  uncle,  who  was  very  fond 
of  him.  He  was  quite  rich,  and  had  said  something 
about  making  Frank  his  heir.  So,  the  parents  fre- 
quently consulted  him  about  their  son,  and  he  was 
pleased  to  give  advice  respecting  his  education. 
"  Once,  the  uncle  said,  "I  think  you  had  better  send 
Frank  from  home."  The  father  replied,  "I  do  not 
see  the  necessity  of  it.  Our  schools  here,  are  con- 
sidered among  the  best  in  the  country  ;  and  boys 
are  sent  to  them  from  other  States." 

"That  may  be,"  the  uncle  answered,  "and  yet 
he  ought  to  go  from  home.  He  is  not  as  manly  as 
other  boys.  I  see  him  sometimes  putting  his  arm 
around  his  mother's  neck,  or  sitting  "with  her  hand 
in  his,  which  is  very  childish  you  know." 

So,  Frank  felt  under  restraint  when  his  uncle  vis- 
ited them.  He  was  afraid  to  show  fondness  for  his 
parents,  or  to  express  his  affectionate  feelings,  on 
other  occasions,  lest  it  should  not  be  manly. 

At  length,  the  uncle  prevailed  on  the  parents  of 
Frank,  to  have  him  sent  from  home,  for  two  years 
before  he  entered  college,  engaging  to  pay  the  ex- 
penses of  his  board  and  tuition,  at  a  celebrated 
academy,  in  a  distant  State. 


90  THE   BOY'S   BOOK. 

But  the  mother  had  many  misgivings.  She  said, 
"  I  now  know,  at  least,  that  my  boy  is  not  in  bad 
company.  This,  I  cannot  know,  when  he  is  away 
from  me.  While  he  studies  his  lessons  by  our  fire- 
side, in  the  evening,  I  feel  that  he  is  not  exposed  to 
evil  example ;  and  he  is  always  contented  with  me." 

"  That  is  the  misfortune,  sister.  He  is  altogether 
too  contented  with  you.  Your  husband  is  a  good 
deal  occupied  with  his  business,  and  boys  brought 
up  by  women,  are  good  for  nothing.  He  must  be 
sent  from  home,  or  he  will  never  be  a  man." 

It  was  in  vain,  the  mother  argued,  that  when  the 
home  was  a  good  one,  and  the  school  a  good  one, 
and  the  boy  making  good  progress,  and  in  good 
habits,  that  a  change  might  be  for  the  worse.  Her 
objections  were  supposed  by  the  uncle,  to  spring 
from  unwillingness  to  part  with  her  son,  and  as  the 
father  had  consented,  she  at  length  consented  also. 

Frank  was  pleased  at  the  thought  of  seeing  new 
places,  and  making  new  acquaintances.  The  pre- 
parations for  his  wardrobe,  and  supply  of  books, 
being  on  a  more  liberal  scale,  than  he  had  been  ac- 
customed to,  nattered  his  vanity,  and  kept  him  in 
good  spirits. 

But  when  the  last  trunk  was  locked,  and  he  sat 
between  his  father  and  mother,  expecting  every  mo- 
ment, the  arrival  of  the  stage-coach,  tears  came  so 
fast  to  his  eyes,  and  he  felt  such  a  pain  at  his  heart, 
that  he  could  scarcely  heed  their  parting  counsel. 

The  sound  of  the  wheels  was  heard  at  the  door, 
and  he  wished  to  throw  himself  on  his  mother's 
neck,  and  weep.  But  his  uncle,  who  was  to  accom- 
pany him,  jumped  out  of  the  coach,  and  came  in. 


THE   ONLY   SON.  91 

So,  he  said  in  a  hurried  voice,  "  good  bye,  dear  fa- 
ther, dear  mother  !  You  shall  hear  from  me,  as  soon 
as  I  get  there." 

He  dared  not  look  back,  until  the  roof  of  his 
home,  and  the  elm-trees  that  overshadowed  it,  were 
entirely  out  of  sight.  For  he  felt  such  a  choking 
sensation,  that  he  feared  he  should  burst  into  tears, 
and  he  dreaded  above  all  things,  lest  his  uncle 
should  call  him  " Miss  Frances"  in  the  presence  of 
strangers. 

In  a  large  school,  he  found  more  to  try  his  temper 
than  he  had  expected.  Ho  wished  to  be  distinguish- 
ed for  scholarship,  but  there  were  many  older,  and 
more  advanced  than  himself,  and  when  he  had  been 
once  or  twice  disappointed,  he  did  not  put  forth  that 
energy  and  perseverance,  which  are  necessary  to  se- 
cure success. 

He  suffered  from  that  loneliness  of  heart,  which  a 
stranger  at  school,  and  especially  an  only  child, 
feels,  when  first  exiled  from  the  sympathies  of 
home.  In  the  turns  of  head-ache,  to  which  he  had 
been  subject  from  childhood,  he  painfully  missed 
maternal  nursing,  and  tenderness. 

But  to  these  trials,  he  gradually  became  accus- 
tomed, and  having  a  good  temper,  was  rather  a  fa- 
vourite, among  his  associates.  At  length,  his  room- 
mate was  changed,  and  a  bad  scholar,  and  a  bad 
boy,  was  placed  in  this  intimate  connection  with 
him.  It  was  found  that  he  had  not  moral  courage 
enough,  to  say  no,  when  he  was  tempted  to  do 
wrong,  and  a  sad  change  in  his  behaviour  soon  be- 
came evident. 

Frank  had  not  firmness  enough  to  reprove  his 


92  the  boy's  book. 

companion,  for  what  he  knew  was  improper  or 
wicked ;  and  he  who  is  constantly  exposed  to  evil 
example,  and  does  not  resist  it  in  the  fear  of  God, 
will  be  but  too  apt  to  follow  it. 

The  first  wrong  step  was  to  neglect  his  lessons, 
and  waste  his  time.  His  room-mate  taught  him 
to  laugh  at  the  censures  that  followed,  and  to 
ridicule  in  secret,  the  teachers  whom  he  should 
have  loved.  He  induced  him  to  read  foolish  and 
hurtful  books ;  and  there  they  were  making  them- 
selves merry,  when  their  distant  parents  supposed 
they  were  diligently  acquiring  knowledge. 

When  Frank  came  home,  at  his  vacations,  his  un- 
cle exclaimed,  "how  improved!  how  manly  !"  He 
had  indeed,  grown  very  tall,  and  bid  fair,  to  possess 
a  fine,  graceful  form.  But  his  parents  scrutinized 
him  more  closely,  and  feared  that  every  change, 
was  not  an  improvement. 

Simple  pleasures  no  longer  satisfied  him.  He  in- 
sisted on  having  the  most  expensive  articles.  He 
ceased  to  ask  pleasantly  for  what  he  needed,  but 
said  through  his  shut  teeth,  with  a  face  partly 
turned  away,  "I  want  such,  and  such  things.  All 
the  other  boys  have  them." 

The  mother  was  alarmed  at  the  habits  of  reserve 
and  concealment,  which  had  grown  over  him.  She 
had  early  taught  him  to  speak  freely  of  all  his  con- 
cerns to  her.  Now,  she  felt  that  she  was  shut  out  of 
his  confidence,  and  that  her  influence  over  him  for 
good,  must  of  course  decline. 

She  endeavoured  by  every  means  in  her  power,  to 
re-instate  herself  in  his  affections.  Still  he  kept  the 
veil  close  about  him,  and  a  son  who  treats  kind  pa- 


THE   ONLY   SON.  93 

rents  with  reserve,  is  either  in  a  wrong  course,  or  in 
danger  of  entering  it.  To  any  gentle  remonstrance, 
on  his  change  of  manners,  or  conduct,  he  carelessly 
replied,  "  Why,  other  boys  do  so.  My  uncle  says,  I 
shall  never  be  a  man,  till  I  act  like  other  boys." 

At  his  entrance  into  college,  he  was  exposed  to 
more  temptations,  and  less  and  less  inclined  to  repel 
them.  Let  no  parent  be  easy  about  a  son,  who  be- 
comes a  member  of  college,  without  industry,  or 
principle.  Good  talents,  and  good  temper  are  not 
sufficient  to  protect  him  ;  for  the  first  grow  inert 
without  industry,  and  the  sunshine  of  the  latter  may 
be  clouded  by  immoral  courses,  and  the  loss  of  self- 
approbation. 

Frank's  letters  to  his  anxious  parents,  were  but 
few,  and  far  between.  Those  to  his  uncle,  were 
more  frequent,  because  on  him  he  depended,  for 
the  supply  of  his  purse.  The  uncle  at  first  remark- 
ed, with  a  laugh,  that  "  he  spent  money  like  a  man." 
But  in  a  year  or  two,  it  was  supposed  that  he  be- 
came very  tired  of  the  free  expenses  of  his  nephew,  as 
he  ceased  to  boast  of  this  proof  of  manliness. 

Frank,  who  took  no  pains  to  devote  himself  to  his 
studies,  was  still  desirous  to  be  distinguished  For 
something.  So,  he  was  fond  of  speaking  of  his 
"  rich,  old  bachelor  uncle,"  and  of  saying  "  without 
doubt,  I  shall  have  all  his  money."  Expectations  of 
wealth,  and  habits  of  extravagance,  hastened  his 
ruin. 

In  his  third  year  at  college,  he  came  home,  sick, 
and  with  no  disposition  to  return  to  his  studies.  He 
spoke  against  the  regulations  of  the  Institution,  and 
ridiculed  the  faculty.    He  said  it  was  impossible  for 


94  the  boy's  book. 

any  one  to  gain  an  education  there,  if  they  applied 
themselves  ever  so  closely.  In  short,  he  blamed 
every  body  but  himself. 

He  had  left  college,  in  debt,  and  in  disgrace.  His 
uncle,  who  had  great  reason  to  be  offended,  told  him, 
that  he  need  no  longer  expect  support  from  him,  for 
unless  his  whole  course  of  life  was  changed,  he 
should  select  some  more  worthy  relative  to  receive 
his  bounty,  and  be  the  heir  of  his  estate. 

Frank's  father  took  him  to  his  own  counting- 
house.  But  he  disliked  business,  and  had  no  habits 
of  application.  His  red,  and  bloated  face,  told  but 
too  truly  what  other  habits  he  had  formed.  And  he 
was  pointed  at,  as  the  ruined  young  man. 

Long  did  the  poor  mother  try  to  hide  the  bitter 
truth  from  her  own  heart.  Often  was  she  ingenious 
in  palliating  his  offences,  to  others,  hoping  he  might 
yet  retrieve  his  character.  She  watched  for  mo- 
ments of  reflection,  for  glimpses  of  good  feeling,  to 
give  force  to  her  remonstrances  and  appeals. 

But  the  father  said  to  her,  "it  is  in  vain,  that  we 
disguise  from  ourselves,  what  is  known  to  the 
whole  community.  Our  son  is  a  sot.  I  have  tried 
with  him,  and  for  him,  every  means  of  reformation. 
But  I  have  reason  to  think,  that  all  is  still  in  vain." 

We  know  how  intemperance,  breaks  down  grace 
of  form,  and  destroys  beauty  of  countenance, — how 
it  debases  man,  who  was  made  in  the  image  of  God 
below  the  level  of  the  brute  creation,  and  sinks  his 
aspiring  and  immortal  soul,  into  an  abyss  of  misery. 

Thus  it  was  with  Frank  Wilson.  The  pleasant 
chamber,  where  his  happy  infancy,  and  childhood, 
had  dreamed  away  nights  of  innocence,  and  woke 


THE   ONLY   SON.  95' 

in  the  morning  to  health  and  joy,  was  now  the  scene 
of  his  frequent  sickness,  hoarse,  senseless  laughter, 
and  fearful  profanity. 

It  is  too  painful  to  follow  him  through  the  excess- 
es, that  broke  the  hearts  of  his  parents.  But  his 
career  was  short.  The  sins  of  his  youth  destroyed 
him.  They  laid  down  with  hirn  in  the  dust.  There 
was  no  evidence  that  he  repented,  or  sought  forgive- 
ness of  God. 

His  death-bed  was  horrible.  None  of  those  who 
loved  him,  could  remain  by  it.  With  eye-balls 
starting  from  their  sockets,  he  shrieked  of  hideous 
monsters  and  fiery  shapes  that  surrounded  him. 
His  last  struggle, — his  last  cry,  was  in  wild  but 
weak  contention,  with  those  frightful  images  which 
a  disordered  imagination  created. 

Thus  died,  in  the  agonies  of  delirium  tremens, 
Frank  Wilson,  the  only  son,  and  idol  of  his  parents. 
His  first  false  step,  was  not  daring  to  say  no,  when 
he  was  tempted  to  evil.  His  next,  was  concealing 
from  his  parents  and  teachers,  the  faults  he  had 
committed,  and  the  dangers  from  which  they  might 
have  saved  him. 

From  these  two  seeds,  want  of  moral  courage,  and 
want  of  confidence  in  his  parents,  what  a  sudden 
and  fatal  harvest  sprang  up, — indolence, — extrava- 
gance,— contempt  of  authority, — intemperance, — 
early  death.  Let  every  boy  dread  the  first  advances 
of  vice,  for  the  descent  is  swift,  like  the  swollen 
and  headlong  torrent,  sweeping  every  landmark 
away. 


96  the  boy's  book. 

I 

GOOD  MANNERS. 

Good  manners,  ought  to  be  assiduously  cultivated 
by  the  young.  They  are  indispensable  to  a  correct 
education,  and  prove  that  its  benefits  have  not  been 
conferred  in  vain.  They  procure  regard,  and  re- 
spect from  others,  and  show  a  well-balanced  char- 
acter. 

A  rude,  churlish  deportment,  marks  a  low,  unfeel- 
ing mind.  No  wealth,  or  learning,  or  rank,  will 
make  amends  for  it.  It  is  an  offence  to  the  Almighty, 
who,  in  forming  a  wonderful  body,  and  uniting  it 
with  a  rational  soul,  demands  some  degree  of  re- 
spect for  the  work  of  his  creation. 

The  young  should  never  indulge  themselves  in 
careless  manners,  or  coarse  language  to  play-mates 
or  domestics.  Good-breeding  extends  equally  to  the 
most  familiar  associate,  and  to  the  poorest  person. 
The  feelings  of  those  in  inferior  stations,  should  be 
regarded,  as  well  as  those  in  the  highest. 

Good  manners  win,  and  preserve  attachment. 
They  should  be  observed  in  the  family  circle. 
They  must  be  worn  as  daily  apparel,  not  as  a  suit 
for  company.  A  truly  polite  boy,  will  rise  and 
give  a  seat  to  his  mother,  or  bring  the  hat  and  cane 
for  his  father,  or  pick  up  the  handkerchief,  and 
working  materials  of  his  sister,  as  readily  and  grace- 
fully, as  for  a  visitor  or  stranger. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  walk  arm  in  arm  with  my  sister," 
said  a  child  to  his  mother,  "  because  the  boys  laugh  at 


GOOD   MANNERS.  9? 

me."  "If  you  allow  yourself  to  be  laughed  out  of 
what  is  proper,  she  replied,  when  you  are  a  boy, 
you  will  be  ridiculed  out  of  your  duties,  and  your 
principles,  and  your  conscience,  when  you  become 
a  man." 

It  is  a  pity  to  make  such  a  mistake,  as  to  be 
ashamed  of  what  is  honourable.  Boys  may  be  as- 
sured that  by  affectionate  attentions,  and  ready  aid 
to  their  mother,  their  sisters,  and  other  members  of 
the  household,  and  marked  civility  to  all  the  female 
sex,  they  imitate  the  example  of  some  of  the  wisest 
and  best  of  men. 

The  smile, — the  pleasant  tone, — the  kind  expres- 
sion,— the  courteous  bow,  are  among  the  lesser 
means  of  communicating  happiness,  which  should 
not  be  neglected.  It  is  not  enough  to  mean  well, — 
we  should  let  the  beauty  of  good  feelings,  and  right 
affections,  be  visible  to  all. 

Good  manners  require  a  person  not  to  talk  much 
of  himself,  except  with  relatives  and  particular 
friends,  who  desire  him  to  do  so,  or  unless  business 
requires  it.  When  inclined  to  obtrude  our  own  feel- 
ings or  affairs  upon  others,  we  should  recollect 
that  their  minds  may  be  supposed  to  be  equally  oc- 
cupied with  their  own. 

The  kindness  of  heart,  on  which  good  manners 
depend,  will  prevent  making  the  faults  of  others,  the 
chosen  theme  of  conversation.  It  will  be  more 
pleasant  to  bring  forward  their  merits,  or  cover 
their  errors  with  tenderness,  than  in  the  words  of  a 
forcible  writer,  to  "rake  among  the  dead  bones  of 
the  world,  regardless  of  its  living  beauty." 

Good-breeding  is  a  happy  medium,  between  diffi- 
9 


98  the  boy's  book. 

dence  and  boldness.  The  diffidence  which  a  boy 
often  feels  in  the  company  of  strangers,  may  be  ex* 
cused  by  the  kind-hearted.  Still,  he  should  study 
remedies  for  it,  as  for  an  infirmity,  until  he  is  able 
to  enter  any  room,  without  either  forwardness,  or 
embarrassment,  and  reply  readily  and  respectfully, 
to  any  question  that  may  be  addressed  to  him. 

Diffidence  is  considered  a  proof  of  a  susceptible 
heart,  and  if  thrown  too  hastily  aside,  may  create 
danger  of  rushing  into  the  other  extreme,  of  bold  or 
careless  manners.  Yet  if  too  long  indulged,  it  be- 
comes painful  to  the  possessor,  and  prevents  him 
from  doing  justice  to  himself. 

A  diffident  person  should  turn  his  thoughts  to- 
wards those,  in  whose  company  he  is,  with  respect, 
and  a  desire  to  make  them  happy.  Let  him  try  to 
forget  self,  for  selfishness  has  much  to  do  with  diffi- 
dence, though  we  usually  give  it  a  more  amiable 
name. 

He,  who  in  the  presence  of  others,  is  indifferent  to 
them,  and  remembers  only  himself,  will  become 
vain  ;  and  vanity  and  diffidence  combined,  make  an 
obstinate  disease.  A  just  estimate  of  ourselves,  and 
of  our  duties,  will  lead  to  propriety  of  deportment, 
towards  all  with  whom  we  associate. 

Though  perfect  decorum,  and  the  ease  of  finished 
manners,  cannot  always  be  expected  from  the  young, 
because  they  rest  both  upon  self-knowledge,  and 
knowledge  of  mankind,  yet  it  should  be  the  busi- 
ness of  education,  throughout  the  whole  of  its  pro- 
gress, to  teach  and  to  enforce  them. 

A  well-bred  boy,  is  immediately  singled  out,  by 
an  observing  eye,  from  the  group  of  his  companions. 


jg  GOOD   MANSERS.  99 

His  frank,  and  modest  deportment  gains  confidence 
and  regard.  He  looks  up  with  a  clear  eye,  when  he 
speaks,  or  is  spoken  to,  feeling  that  there  is  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of,  but  ignorance  and  vice. 

Good  manners  give  influence.  This  is  so  generally 
confessed,  that  bad  men,  study  the  arts  of  insinuation 
to  advance  their  own  evil  designs.  History  will 
show,  how  often  usurpers  and  tyrants,  have  assumed 
fascinating  manners,  until  their  purposes  were  ac- 
complished. 

Sylla  and  Cataline,  who  deluged  Rome  with 
blood,  knew  how  to  deceive  the  people,  with  specious 
appearances.  Absalom  "  stole  the  hearts  of  the  men 
of  Israel,"  when  he  sought  to  hurl  his  father  from 
the  throne. 

Since  Hypocrisy  is  so  eager  to  obtain  the  beauti- 
ful garments  of  Virtue, — Virtue  must  be  more  care- 
ful to  wear  her  own  wardrobe,  and  not  suffer  the 
"children  of  this  world  to  be  wiser  in  their  genera- 
tion, than  the  children  of  light."  The  truly  good, 
ought  not  to  be  neglectful  of  the  influence  that  po- 
liteness will  give  them. 

Courtesy  of  manners,  was  more  regarded  in  for- 
mer days,  than  in  our  own.  They  were  conspicuous 
in  the  "  gentleman  of  the  old  school,"  or  those  who 
lived  before  our  revolution.  A  few  of  these  vene- 
rable men  still  remain,  as  our  models.  But  how  ra- 
pidly are  they  passing  away.  Let  the  rising  gene- 
ration, while  they  imitate  their  goodness,  catch  the 
mantle,  in  which  it  was  arrayed. 

Washington,  and  his  compeers,  were  remarkable 
for  a  dignified  politeness.  Delicate  attention  to  the 
weaker  sex,  and  chivalrous  protection  of  the  help- 


100  THE  BOY'S    BOOK. 

less,  formed  a  part  of  their  character,  and  added 
lustre  to  their  greatness. 

A  gentlemen,  who  was  distinguished  for  true  po- 
liteness, once  had  charge  of  an  Institution  for  the 
Insane.  It  was  observed  that  he  easily  ruled  the  re- 
fractory, and  even  fascinated  the  brutal  and  obdurate. 
To  an  inquiry,  what  was  the  secret  of  this  magic 
power,  he  replied,  "in  dealing  with  these  unfortu- 
nate beings,  I  ever  keep  uppermost  in  my  mind,  that 
"God  is  love."  *"    ' 

This  was  the  perfection  of  good  manners, — found- 
ed on  love  to  the  human  race, — a  love,  not  baffled 
by  the  most  intricate  and  perplexing  duties, — not 
daunted  by  violence,  not  discouraged  by  stupidity, 
but  patiently  cementing  the  fragments  of  the  broken 
mind,  and  changing  even  the  fierce  glance  of  the 
maniac,  to  confidence  and  gratitude. 

"  Be  courteous,"  said  an  inspired  apostle.  "  When 
ye  enter  into  a  house,  salute  it,"  was  the  command 
of  our  blessed  Redeemer.  We  perceive  that  true 
politeness  is  allied  to  piety.  It  is  kindness  of  heart, 
kindly  expressed.  It  teaches  to  avoid  giving  cause- 
less pain  to  the  humblest  being.  It  respects  the 
feelings  of  all  whom  God  has  made. 

Good  manners  owe  a  part  of  their  power  to  the 
perception  of  beauty,  which  our  Maker  has  implant- 
ed within  us.  Food  for  this  perception,  is  scattered 
among  the  wild  flowers  by  the  way-side, — on  the 
bosom  of  the  blue  stream, — in  the  waving  forest, — 
and  amid  the  vaulted  sky.  It  "  Warms  in  the  sun 
refreshes  in  the  breeze, — glows  in  the  stars,  and 
blosoms  in  the  trees." 

True  politeness  is  moral  beauty.    We  spontane- 


WEALTH.  101 

ously  yield  it  our  love.  Those  who  are  devoid  of  it, 
are  able  to  admire  it.  It  imparts  happiness.  It 
makes  glad  the  heart  of  him  who  cherishes,  and  him 
who  shares  it.  Let  us  strive  to  obtain  it,  for  it  is  a 
form  of  benevolence,  cheering  to  our  fellow-crea- 
tures, and  acceptable  to  our  Father  in  heaven. 


WEALTH. 

"Father,"  said  a  little  boy,  "I  wish  you  was  a 
rich  man]"  "Why  do  you  wish  so  my  dear] 
Have  you  not  proper  clothing,  and  comfortable  food, 
and  a  good  home  to  shelter  you  3  Are  you  not  sent 
to  school  1  and  have  you  not  books,  from  which  to 
gather  knowledge  V 

"  Now,  there  are  dangers  in  being  rich,  especially 
to  children.  Among  these,  are  the  dangers  of  grow- 
ing up  idle,  or  selfish,  or  proud.  Perhaps,  your 
Heavenly  Father,  who  knows  your  heart  better  than 
you  do,  saw  that  you  would  not  be  able  to  withstand 
such  temptations,  and  so  protected  you  from  them." 

The  child  acknowledged  that  he  had  not  thought 
of  all  these  things  before.  He  promised  to  be  con- 
tented with  the  lot,  in  which  he  had  been  placed, 
and  thankful  for  his  opportunities  of  gaining  instruc- 
tion. So,  he  put  on  a  happy  face  and  a  happy  tem- 
per, and  was  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him. 

We  see  that  wealth  purchases  costly  raiment,  and 
9* 


102  THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 

a  showy  equipage, — a  luxurious  table,  and  the  at- 
tendance of  many  servants.  These  things  strike  the 
senses,  and  we  might  be  so  dazzled,  as  to  consider 
them  essential  to  happiness,  if  our  senses  governed 
us. 

But  why  should  we  permit  our  senses  to  govern 
us]  Have  we  not  other  means  of  judging]  Can 
we  not  look  deeper  than  the  surface]  When  we 
form  our  estimate  of  any  man's  character  or  happi- 
ness, there  are  other  things  to  be  taken  into  view, 
besides  the  contents  of  his  purse,  or  the  magnitude 
of  his  estate. 

We  should  inquire,  is  he  amiable  ]  Is  he  well- 
educated  1  Does  he  seek  the  improvement  of  society  1 
Does  he  set  a  good  example  ]  Is  he  pious  ]  Then 
his  wealth  is  a  blessing,  for  it  will  enable  him  to  do 
good,  on  a  larger  scale. 

But  if  he  trusts  to  his  possessions,  for  his  respec- 
tability,— if  he  seals  up  his  sympathies  from  those 
around, — if  he  despises  the  industrious  in  humble 
stations,  and  forgets  the  God  who  made  them  to  differ, 
"  verily,  a  poor,  wise  man,  is  better  than  he." 

It  is  a  pity  for  the  young,  to  form  too  high  an  es- 
timate of  wealth,  for  if  they  possess  it,  they  will  be 
prevented  from  labouring  after  higher  excellencies  ; 
and  if  they  do  not,  they  will  be  led  to  show  that  at- 
tention and  reverence  to  the  rich,  which  should  be 
reserved  for  the  virtuous. 

In  communities,  where  wealth  is  counted  the  chief 
good ;  high  intellect  and  learning,  even  morality 
and  piety,  hold  but  a  secondary  place.  Matter  is 
elevated  above  mind,  and  the  perishable,  prized 
more  than  the  imperishable.    The  pyramid  is  re- 


WEALTH.  103 

versed,  and  the  "  bag  of  deceitful  weights,"  is  adopt- 
ted  as  a  true  standard. 

In  governments,  this  leads  to  corruption.  It  was 
after  the  degeneracy  of  Rome,  when  virtuous  pover- 
ty ceased  to  be  respected,  that  the  statesman  who 
sought  to  apply  a  remedy  to  the  growth  of  evil,  said, 
that  the  very  first  step  must  be,  to  take  away  the  un- 
due estimation  of  riches. 

The  Romans,  before  they  had  become  debased  by 
luxury  and  vice,  taught  their  young  people,  a  high 
moral  lesson,  when  they  built  the  temple  of  Virtue, 
in  advance  of  the  temple  of  Honour  ;  implying,  that 
he  who  would  enter  one,  must  first  pass  through  the 
other. 

Confucius,  the  Chinese  philosopher,  said,  "let 
every  man  beware  of  three  things  : — in  youth,  of  his 
appetites, — in  middle  life,  of  his  passions, — in  age, 
of  covetousness."  We  perceive,  that  the  sage  of 
China,  had  looked  beyond  the  surface  of  things. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  the  senses  and  ap- 
petites bear  sway,  it  is  natural  that  we  should  high- 
ly value  whatever  affords  them  gratification.  As 
we  pass  on,  stronger  passions  assert  their  dominion. 
But  the  last-named  ruler,  Covetousness,  how  came 
he  into  the  throne?  Why  should  man  cling  more 
closely  to  the  world,  when  he  is  about  to  leave  it  ? 

Should  we  become  more  sordid,  just  as  we  are  to 
be  summoned  to  lay  down,  all  that  we  have  ga- 
thered upon  earth  ?  About  to  embark  upon  the  dark 
sea  of  death,  would  it  not  be  wiser,  in  the  words  of 
St.  Paul,  to  the  mariners,  to  "  throw  out  all  the  wares 
and  lighten  the  ship  V 

Governor  Everett  says,  "Wealth  in  this  country 


104  THE   BOY'S  BOOK. 

may  be  traced  back  to  industry  and  frugality ;  the 
paths  which  lead  to  it  are  open  to  all ;  the  laws 
which  protect  it  are  equal  to  all ;  and  such  is  the 
joint  operation  of  the  law  and  the  customs  of  so- 
ciety, that  the  wheel  of  fortune  is  in  constant  revo- 
lution, and  the  poor  in  one  generation,  furnish  the 
rich  in  the  next. 

"  The  rich  man,  who  treats  poverty  with  arrogance 
and  contempt,  tramples  upon  the  ashes  of  his  father 
or  his  grandfather;  the  poor  man  who  nourishes 
feelings  of  un kindness,  and  bitterness,  against  wealth, 
makes  war  with  the  prospects  of  his  children,  and 
the  order  of  things  in  which  he  lives." 

Wealth  furnishes  many  means  of  obtaining  and 
imparting  gratification.  Under  the  guidance  of  lib- 
erality and  benevolence,  it  relieves  suffering,  promotes 
improvement,  opens  the  channels  of  enterprize,  and 
gives  influence  in  society,  to  aid  every  good  work. 

But  considered  merely  as  a  personal  possession, 
how  infirm  is  it,  in  the  day  of  sorrow  and  adversity, 
For  the  sick  man,  it  may  indeed  furnish  a  bed  of 
down,  and  costly  attendance.  Yet  can  it  buy  affec- 
tion 1  Can  it  reprieve  from  the  mortal  pang?  Can 
it  give  peace  of  conscience?  or  acquiescence  in  the 
Divine  will  J 

Of  how  little   value   is  wealth,  without  religion. 

This  cannot  be  fully  realized  until  the  close  of  life. 

,  Hear  the  touching  testimony,  which  Patrick  Henry, 

;the  eloquent  orator,  bears,  at  the  conclusion  of  his 

last  will. 

"Now  having  disposed  of  my  property  to  my 
family,  there  is  one  thing  more,  which  I  wish  I 
could  give  them,  and  that  is  the  Christian  Religion. 


TREES.  105 

If  they  have  this,  and  I  had  not  given  them  one 
shilling,  they  would  be  rich  ;  and  if  they  have  it  not, 
and  I  left  them  all  the  world,  they  would  be  poor." 

A  similar  sentiment  is  breathed  in  the  prayer  of 
a  religious  poet, 

"  Give  what  Thou  wilt,  without  Thee,  we  are  poor, 
And  with  Thee,  rich,  take  what  Thou  wilt  away." 

Doubtless,  both  these  fine  passages  are  founded  on 
the  solemn  admonition  of  our  blessed  Saviour, 
"  What  shall  it  profit  a  man,  if  he  shall  gain  the 
whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul)  Or  what 
shall  a  man  give,  in  exchange  for  his  soul  j* 


TREES. 

You  have  doubtless,  often  admired  the  budding 
and  flowering  trees,  as  they  are  decked  by  the 
beautiful  spring,  after  the  cold  and  nakedness 
of  winter.  You  have  seen  how  their  verdure  and 
shade  adds  charms  to  the  landscape,  or  have  walk- 
ed through  the  forest,  delighted  with  its  loftiness 
and  majesty. 

Have  you  ever  reflected  on  the  goodness  of  the 
Creator,  in  forming  such  a  variety  of  trees,  and  fit- 
ting them  to  different  climates,  and  to  the  wants  of 
man  1  Beneath  the  burning  suns  of  India,  how  re- 
freshing must  be  the  shade   of  the  lofty   Banyan, 


106  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

striking  down  its  drooping  branches,  until  each 
takes  root,  and  thus  forming  an  arched  grove,  or  a 
magnificent  columnar  temple. 

Of  the  picturesque  Palm, — the  "Prince  of  the 
East,"  as  it  has  been  sometimes  called  ;  a  distinguish- 
ed traveller  writes, — "  When  grown  to  a  size  for 
bearing  fruit,  its  leaves  are  six,  or  eight  feet  long, 
and  may  be  termed  branches,  for  it  has  no  other. 
The  flavour  of  its  ripe  dates,  is  not  unlike  that  of 
the  conserved  green  citron,  which  is  brought  from 
Madeira.  It  presents  not  only  a  supply  of  salutary 
food,  but  however  dreary  the  region  where  it  is  found, 
gives  a  never-failing  indication  of  water  near  its 
roots. 

"A  considerable  part  of  the  inhabitants  of  Egypt, 
Arabia  and  Persia,  subsist  almost  entirely  upon  its 
fruit.  They  speak  also  of  its  medicinal  virtues. 
Their  camels  feed  upon  the  date  stones,  which  are 
ground  in  hand-mills.  The  leaves  are  wrought  into 
couches,  baskets,  bags,  mats  and  brushes ;  from  the 
mid-rib,  or  longitudinal  stem,  they  make  javelins, 
fences  for  their  gardens,  and  cages  for  their  poultry  ; 
from  the  fibres, — thread,  ropes  and  rigging;  from 
the  sap  is  prepared  a  pleasant  liquor,  and  the  trunk 
furnishes  fuel. 

"  It  is  even  said,  that  from  one  variety  of  the 
palm-tree  (the  phcenioc  farinafera)  meal  has  been  found 
among  the  fibres  of  the  branches,  and  used  for  food. 
The  trunk  of  the  date-tree  is  full  of  cavities,  the 
vestiges  of  decayed  leaves,  exactly  adapted  to  the 
reception  of  the  human  feet  and  hands ;  and  it  is 
impossible  to  view  them  without  believing,  that  He 
who  in  the  beginning,  fashioned  'every  tree,  in  the 


TREES.  107' 

which  is  the  fruit  of  a  tree  yielding  seed,  as  meat 
for  man'  has  there  manifested  one,  among  the  in- 
numerable proofs,  of  his  beneficent  designs." 

The  lofty,  India-Rubber  tree,  or  Caoutchouc,  may 
be  discerned  at  a  great  distance,  by  its  thick  crown, 
and  the  vast  circumference  which  its  branches  cover. 
When  the  gum,  which  has  become  necessary  in 
such  a  variety  of  forms,  to  the  civilized  world,  first 
flows  from  an  incision  made  in  the  bark,  it  is  of  a 
fine  white  colour,  and  of  the  consistence  of  cream. 

The  Bread-Fruit  tree,  supplies  not  only  food,  but 
raiment ;  for  the  bark  is  manufactured  into  a  kind  of 
cloth.  Captain  Cook,  in  describing  it,  as  he  first 
found  it  at  Otaheite,  says,  "  if  a  man  plant  ten  of 
those  trees,  he  can  not  only  procure  bread  enough 
for  his  household,  but  convert  a  surplus  into  money, 
and  lay  it  up  for  his  children :  so  abundantly  do 
young  trees  spring  from  the  roots  of  the  old." 

The  Bread-Fruit,  is  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a 
child's  head,  covered  with  a  thin  skin,  and  with  a 
core  as  large  as  the  handle  of  a  small  knife.  It  is 
perfectly  white,  and  when  roasted  over  the  coals,  re- 
sembles in  taste,  new  wheaten  bread,  and  is  a  whole- 
some kind  of  food.  The  wood  of  the  tree  is  used  for 
building,  and  its  broad  leaves  serve  for  towels,  and 
table-cloths. 

In  South-America  is  a  tree,  which  some  travellers 
call  the  Milk-tree.  It  overflows  with  a  nutritious 
liquor,  resembling  the  milk  of  a  cow,  and  having  a 
slight,  balsamic  flavour.  The  natives  make  use  of  it 
with  their  cassava-bread,  and  are  said  to  increase  in 
flesh,  by  the  diet. 

The  Tallow-tree,  grows  in  China,  on  the  banks  of 


108 


THE   BOY  S   BOOK- 


rivulets.  The  Chinese  steep  its  seeds  in  water,  and 
then  by  pressing  them,  obtain  a  thick  oil,  which' 
hardening  to  the  consistency  of  tallow,  is  made  into 
firm  and  beautiful,  white  candles ;  and  these  burn 
without  the  least  unpleasant  odour.  The  Soap-tree, 
produces  fruit,  of  the  size  of  a  musket-ball,  which 
answers  all  the  purposes  of  soap,  in  cleansing 
linen,  though  it  contains  an  acid,  which  sometimes 
hurts  the  texture  of  the  finer  fabrics. 

The  Cinnamon-tree,  which  was  originally  found 
in  Ceylon,  sends  out  its  young  leaves,  at  first  of  a 
delicate  rose  colour,  which  changes  to  yellow,  and 
afterwards  to  green.  Its  small  white  flowers,  par- 
take of  the  perfume  of  its  spicy  bark.  From  its 
fruit  an  oil  is  extracted,  of  which  candles  of  a  fra- 
grant odour  are  manufactured.  The  bark  is  cut 
from  the  tender  shoots,  and  dried  in  the  sun,  which 
causes  it  to  curl.  A  dry,  rocky  soil,  gives  it  the 
most  pungent  and  aromatic  properties. 

The  Talipot-tree  of  Ceylon,  grows  entirely  straight* 
to  the  height  of  sixty  or  seventy  feet,  and  then  sud- 
denly spreads  forth  an  immense  tuft  of  leaves,  with- 
out boughs ;  each  leaf  bowing  on  its  stem,  in  a 
graceful  curve,  expanding  like  an  enormous  fan, 
large  enough  to  cover  ten  or  twelve  men. 

This  vast,  evergreen  crown,  surmounting  so  lofty 
and  upright  a  shaft,  is  truly  magnificent.  When  the 
tree  has  attained  the  age  of  half  a  century,  there 
bursts  from  the  centre  of  this  crown,  a  cone,  seven- 
teen feet  in  height,  from  which  issues  a  vast  yellow 
flower,  composed  of  numberless  blossoms,  so  ar- 
ranged on  a  giant  stem  and  ornamented  with  tassals, 
as  to  tower  above  the  tuft  of  leaves,  like  a  diadem : 


TREES.  109 

and  the  tree,  after  having  perfected  this  glorious 
flower,  dies. 

In  Russia,  great  value  is  attached  to  the  Linden- 
tree.  It  is  cultivated  in  almost  every  hamlet  and  vil- 
lage. Furniture,  and  domestic  utensils  are  formed 
from  its  wood,  and  cords  and  matting  from  its  rind. 
Its  sweet  blossoms  perfume  the  air,  prepare  a  cor- 
dial for  invalids,  and  nourish  multitudes  of  bees. 
So  delicious  is  the  honey  that  is  produced  from  the 
flower,  in  its  earlier  stage  of  bloom,  that  it  is  taken 
from  the  hives,  before  the  bees  have  partaken  of 
other  food,  and  brings  a  high  price  in  the  markets 
of  Constantinople. 

The  Pitch-Pine  of  the  United  States,  frequently 
grows  fifty  feet  in  height,  before  its  branches  shoot 
forth  with  their  rich,  dark  verdure.  When  the  sea- 
son arrives  for  collecting  its  treasures,  apertures  are 
made  in  its  bark,  and  boxes  inserted,  into  which  the 
turpentine  flows.  Tar  is  obtained  from  such  por- 
tions of  the  bark,  as  become  saturated  with  oozing 
turpentine.  These  are  carefully  divided  from  the 
tree,  piled  in  the  shape  of  a  mound,  covered  with 
earth,  and  set  on  fire.  The  dark  thick  liquid  called 
tar,  flows  forth  into  a  reservoir  prepared  for  it. 

The  majestic  Oak,  strikes  root  deeply  in  the  earth 
and  survives  to  a  great  age.  That  species  of  it, 
which  is  called  the  teak,  is  used  much  in  ship-build- 
ing, for  its  hard,  enduring  qualities,  and  grows  both 
in  Asia  and  Africa.  The  great  tree  in  England, 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Boddington-Oak,  was 
fifty-four  feet  in  circumference,  at  the  ground,  and 
its  trunk  being  hollow,  formed  a  capacious  room 
whose  floor,  in  one  direction,  measured  sixteen  feet. 
10 


110 

Immensely  large  Chestnuts  trees,  spring  from  the 
lava  of  Mount  Etna,  in  Sicily.  Five  of  these,  grow 
closely  side  by  side,  like  a  clustered  column,  and 
are  said  by  some  travellers,  to  be  actually  united  at 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  where  the  circumference  of 
the  whole,  is  two  hundred  and  four  feet.  The  cavi- 
ty of  one  of  these  trees,  can  contain  one  hundred 
sheep,  and  it  has  been  asserted  that  thirty  people  on 
horseback,  have  entered  it. 

The  Elms  of  our  own  country,  are  exceedingly 
beautiful  and  graceful.  To  rear  them,  in  streets, 
and  public  squares,  is  doing  good  to  the  public,  and 
to  posterity.  In  the  picturesque  city  of  New-Haven, 
in  Connecticut,  it  is  gratefully  remembered,  that 
most  of  the  Elms  which  adorn  it,  were  planted  by 
the  hand  of  the  late  Honourable  James  Hillhouse. 

The  most  majestic  Elm,  which  adorns  the  public 
green,  in  that  city,  was  planted  in  1688,  by  an  indi- 
vidual named  William  Cooper.  He  was  a  poor 
man,  and  when  the  house  of  his  pastor,  the  Rev. 
James  Pierpont,  was  erected  by  voluntary  contribu- 
tion, he,  having  nothing  else  to  offer,  brought  two 
young  elms  upon  his  shoulder,  and  set  them  out  as 
shade-trees. 

Like  the  two  mites  of  the  widow,  they  are  held  in 
lasting  remembrance,  while  the  gifts  that  the  rich 
men  cast  into  the  treasury,  are  forgotten.  Genera- 
tion after  generation  has  passed  away,  yet  still  this 
labour  of  love,  remains  unchanged  by  winter's 
blast,  or  summer's  heat,  bearing  on  its  verdant 
crown,  the  name  of  a  poor  and  virtuous  man,  while 
numbers  who  were  above  him  in  rank,  have  "  no 
memorial  among  the  people." 


TREES.  Ill 

The  great  Duke  of  Sully,  planted  thousands  of 
shade-trees,  in  his  beloved  France.  This  is  an  hon- 
our, in  which  the  young  may  easily  share.  By 
planting  seeds  and  stones  of  fruits,  in  proper  spots, 
and  learning  how  to  pay  them  proper  attention,  they 
may  add  much  to  the  comfort  of  those  whom  they 
love,  as  well  as  to  their  own.  Or  by  rearing  a  ma- 
jestic Elm,  or  Oak,  Maple,  or  Chestnut,  they  may 
throw  a  shelter  over  the  head  of  the  weary  traveller 
in  future  generations,  and  leave  a  beautiful  monu- 
ment to  posterity,  when  they  are  sleeping  in  the 
dust. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  says,  "  The  exquisite  delight  of 
a  planter,  is  like  that  of  a  painter,  in  laying  on  his 
colours ;  every  moment  he  sees  their  effect  coming 
out.  There  is  no  art,  or  occupation  comparable  to 
this, — full  of  past,  present,  and  future  enjoyment. 
I  look  back  to  the  time,  when  there  was  not  a  tree 
here; — I  look  around,  and  see  thousands  of  trees 
growing  up,  all  of  which,  have  received  my  personal 
attention. 

"I  remember  five  years  ago,  looking  forward, 
with  the  most  delighted  expectation,  to  this  very 
hour,  and  as  each  year  has  passed,  the  expectation 
has  gone  on  increasing.  I  do  the  same  now ; — I  an- 
ticipate what  this  plantation,  and  that,  will  presently 
become,  if  only  taken  care  of,  and  there  is  no  spot 
of  which  I  do  not  watch  the  progress. 

"  Unlike  building,  or  indeed  any  other  kind  of  pur- 
suit, this  has  no  end,  and  is  never  interrupted ;  but 
goes  on  from  day  to  day,  from  year  to  year,  with 
perpetually  augmenting  interest."  My  sons,  you 
might  yourselves  enjoy  some  of  those  pleasures  of 


112  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

planting,  which  Sir  Walter  Scott,  so  vividly  portrays. 
Try.  Cast  into  the  fresh  mould,  the  stone  of  the 
rich  peach,  or  plumb,  or  apricot,  or  cherry,  which 
you  have  just  eaten.  Learn  to  transplant,  to  graft, 
to  inoculate. 

Ask  advice  of  those  who  are  experienced  in  hor- 
ticulture. Set  out,  and  train  the  grape-vine,  and  see 
with  what  delight  you  will  present  the  full,  fragrant 
clusters,  to  your  parents  and  the  frien  ds  whom  you  love. 
Or  if  a  loftier  ambition  inspires  you,  bury  an  acorn 
in  the  tuft,  and  bequeath  an  oak.  to  posterity.  Plant 
a  grove,  or  beautify  a  square,  with  the  Elm,  or  Ash,  the 
Maple,  or  the  Plane-tree. 

When  you  become  men,  encircle  your  grounds 
with  green  hedges,  adorn  your  enclosures  with  flow- 
ering-shrubs, and  enrich  the  waste  places,  or  even 
the  highways,  with  the  tree  on  which  the  silk-worm 
feeds.  Remember  that  he  who  multiplies  what  is 
beautiful  in  nature,  increases  the  means  of  softening 
the  taste,  and  purifying  the  heart. 

Teach  the  little  ones,  who  may  grow  up  under 
your  care,  never  to  deform  or  injure  a  tree.  Show 
them  how  wonderfully  the  sap,  which  is  their  life- 
blood,  circulates,  and  the  air-vessels  breathe,  and 
the  leaves  and  flowers  which  hide  from  winter,  come 
forth  in  their  season ;  and  lead  them  to  view,  in 
every  column  of  verdure,  that,  in  various  forms, 
beautifies  the  landscape,  the  goodness  of  an  Al- 
mighty Creator. 


PEACEFUL  DISPOSITIONS.  113 


PEACEFUL  DISPOSITIONS. 

The  history  of  every  nation  tells  of  the  shedding 
of  blood.  The  most  ancient  annals  record  "wars 
and  fightings,"  ever  since  man  was  placed  upon 
the  earth.  Both  savage  and  civilized  nations,  have 
prized  the  trappings  of  the  warrior,  and  coveted  the 
glory  of  victory. 

Yet  have  there  always  been  some  reflecting  minds, 
to  lament  that  the  beings  whom  God  had  so  nobly 
endowed,  should  delight  to  destroy  each  other. 
They  have  felt  that  there  was  suffering  enough  in  the 
world  without  man's  inflicting  it  on  his  brother ;  and 
that  life  was  short  enough,  without  being  made  still 
shorter  by  violence. 

Among  the  most  warlike  nations,  there  have  been 
a  few  calm  and  philanthropic  spirits,  to  perceive  that 
war  was  an  evil,  or  to  deplore  it  as  a  judgment,  even 
before  the  Gospel  breathed  "good- will  and  peace," 
in  an  angel's  song.  Though  Rome  grew  up  by 
bloodshed,  and  gained  her  dominion  by  the  sword, 
yet  some  of  her  best  Emperors  deplored  the  evils  of 
war. 

Adrian  loved  peace,  and  endeavoured  to  promote 
it.  He  saw  that  war  was  a  foe  to  those  arts  and 
sciences,  through  which  nations  become  prosperous 
and  refined.  He  felt  that  the  cultivation  of  the  earth, 
— the  pursuits  of  commerce,  and  the  progress  of  in- 
tellect must  alike  be  obstructed  and  languish,  while 
the  business  of  men  was  in  the  field  of  battle. 
10* 


114  THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 

Titus  Antoninus  Pius  desired  to  live  in  peace,  with 
every  one.  "  I  had  rather  save  the  life  of  one  citizen, 
he  nobly  said,  than  destroy  a  thousand  enemies." 
His  successor,  Marcus  Aurelius,  considered  war  both 
as  a  disgrace  and  calamity.  Though  the  necessity 
of  the  times,  sometimes  forced  him  into  it,  his  heart 
revolted,  for  he  was  inspired  with  the  love  of  learn- 
ing and  philosophy. 

Yet  these  were  heathen  emperors.  They  had 
never  imbibed  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel.  They  were 
not  followers  of  Him,  whose  last  accent  was  a  pray- 
er for  his  murderers.  The  maxim  of  the  ancient 
Jews  was,  "  an  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth/' 
But  the  precept  of  Jesus  Christ  is,  "  see  that  ye  love 
one  another."  The  contentious  spirit,  was  not  there- 
fore condemned  by  the  law  of  Moses,  nor  by  the 
mythology  of  the  heathen. 

Have  you  ever  thought  much,  my  dear  young 
friends,  of  the  miseries  of  war] — of  the  waste  of 
human  life  which  it  causes  ? — of  the  bitter  mourning 
which  it  makes  in  families?  You  pity  a  friend  who 
suffers  pain, — a  poor  cripple  upon  crutches, — or  even 
a  child  with  a  cut  finger. 

But,  after  a  battle,  what  gashes  and  gaping  wounds 
are  seen, — what  multitudes  of  mangled  carcasses. 
How  red  is  the  earth,  with  flowing  blood, — how  terri- 
ble* are  the  groans  of  the  dying,  trampled  beneath 
the  feet  of  horses,  or  suffocated  under  heaps  of  dead. 
How  fearful  to  see  strong  men  convulsed  with  agony, 
and  imploring  help  in  vain. 

Think  too,  of  the  sorrow  in  their  distant  homes. 
Grey-headed  parents,  from  whom  the  last  prop  is 
taken  away,  lamenting  their  sons  fallen  in  battle. 


PEACEFUL    DISPOSITIONS.  115" 

Wives  mourning  for  their  husbands, — little  children 
weeping  because  their  fathers  must  return  no  more. 
Neighbourhoods,  once  happy  and  prosperous,  plung- 
ed into  poverty,  by  the  loss  of  those  who  provided 
them  with  bread. 

All  these  evils,  and  many  more,  which  we  have 
neither  room  nor  time  to  mention,  may  come  from  a 
single  battle.  Towns  and  cities  are  sometimes  burn- 
ed, and  the  aged  and  helpless  destroyed.  Mothers, 
and  their  innocent  babes,  perish  in  the  ruins  of  their 
own  beloved  abodes. 

War  produces  cruelty,  and  bad  passions.  Men, 
who  have  no  cause  to  dislike  each  other,  meet  as 
deadly  foes.  They  raise  weapons  of  destruction, 
and  exult  in  the  misery  they  inflict.  Rulers,  should 
take  a  solemn  view  of  the  sufferings  and  sins  of  war, 
ere  they  plunge  the  people  into  it,  for  differences 
which  might  have  been  amicably  settled. 

War  is  expensive.  The  political  economist  should 
therefore  oppose  it.  Great  Britain,  in  her  last  war 
with  France,  is  said  to  have  spent  more  than  seven 
hundred  millions  of  pounds.  But  the  immediate 
cost  of  armies,  is  but  a  part  of  the  expense  of  war. 

Who  can  compute  the  amount  of  losses  by  the 
obstruction  of  tillage  and  commerce,  and  the  waste 
of  life  ;  for  every  full-grown,  able-bodied  man,  is  of 
value  to  the  country  that  reared  him.  We  may  say 
with  the  poet, 

"  War  is  a  game,  that  were  their  subjects  wise, 
Kings  would  not  play  at." 

Howard,  who  felt  that  it  was  more  noble  to  save 
life  than  to  destroy  it,  visited  the  prisons  of  distant 


116  THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 

lands,  to  relieve  such  as  have  no  helper,  and  bless- 
ings in  foreign  languages,  were  poured  upon  his 
head.  Buonaparte  caused  multitudes  to  be  slain,  and 
multitudes  to  mourn,  and  died  in  exile,  on  a  desolate 
island.  When  death  approached,  to  strip  the  pomp 
from  titles,  whose  bosom  must  have  been  the  most 
peaceful,  when  about  to  pass  into  the  presence  of 
God] 

The  religious  sect,  who  are  called  Friends,  never 
engage  in  warfare.  The  State  of  Pennsylvania,  was 
settled  by  them.  William  Penn,  its  founder,  pur- 
chased it  of  the  natives,  and  lived  with  them  in  ami- 
ty. They  gathered  around  him,  with  their  dark,  red 
brows,  and  gazing  earnestly  in  his  face,  said,  "  You 
are  our  father.    We  love  you." 

When  he  purchased  the  land  of  them,  he  appear- 
ed unarmed,  under  the  spreading  branches  of  a  lofty 
oak,  and  conferred  with  their  chiefs.  He  paid  them 
to  their  satisfaction,  gave  them  gifts,  and  entered  in- 
to articles  of  friendship  with  them  and  their  descend- 
ants. "  This  is  the  only  treaty  which  was  confirm- 
ed without  an  oath,"  said  an  historian,  "  and  the  only 
one,  that  was  neyer  broken." 

These  men  of  peace,  treated  the  sons  of  the  forest 
as  brethren.  But  in  other  colonies,  there  were  dis- 
tressing wars.  The  settlers  carried  their  guns  to  the 
corn-field,  and  laboured  in  fear,  for  the  safety  of 
their  households.  The  tomahawk  and  scalping- 
knife,  were  sometimes  secretly  raised,  so  that  when 
they  returned  home,  there  were  no  wife  or  children 
there,— only  dead  bodies.  A  savage  foe  had  chosen 
this  terrible  form  of  vengeance,  for  real  or  suppos- 
ed wrongs. 


PEACEFUL   DISPOSITIONS.  117 

If  true  glory  belongs  to  those  who  do  great  good, 
to  mankind,  is  not  the  glory  of  the  warrior,  a  false 
glory  1  Does  not  History  sometimes  confer  on  her 
heroes,  a  fame  which  religion  condemns  1 — But  we 
ask  how  are  wars  to  be  prevented  %  Might  not  one 
nation  act  as  mediator  between  others,  as  a  good 
man  makes  peace  between  contending  neighbours  i 

Why  should  not  one  Christian  ruler  address  an- 
other, as  the  patriarch  Abraham  did,  his  kinsman  1 
"  Let  there  be  no  strife,  betwixt  us,  I  pray  thee  ;  for 
we  are  brethren."  If  there  have  been  always  wars, 
from  the  beginning,  is  this  any  reason,  why  there 
should  be,  unto  the  end  1  Do  not  the  Scriptures  of 
Truth,  foretel  a  happy  period  on  earth,  when  there 
shall  be  war  no  more  1  How  beautifully  has  a  poet 
versified  the  cheering  prediction  : 

"No  more  shall  nation  against  nation  rise, 
Nor  ardent  warriors  meet,  with  hateful  eyes, — 
Nor  fields  with  gleaming  steel  be  cover'd  o'er, 
The  brazen  trumpet  kindle  rage  no  more, 
But  useless  lances  into  scythes  shall  bend, 
And  the  broad  faulchion  in  a  ploughshare  end. 
For  wars  shall  cease,  and  ancient  fraud  shall  fail, 
Returning  Justice  lift  aloft  her  scale. 
Peace  o'er  the  earth  her  olive  wand  extend, 
And  white-rob'd  righteousness  from  Heaven  descend." 

War  proceeds  from  the  unbridled  passions,  or 
restless  ambition  of  men.  Unkind  and  quarrelsome 
dispositions  in  children  are  the  germs  of  such  evil 
fruit.  Ought  not  then,  the  remedy  to  be  early  applied  to 
the  heart,  from  whence  they  spring  1  For  if  the 
love  of  peace,  was  planted,  and  cherished  carefully 
in  the  breast  of  every  little  child,  would  there  not 


118  THE  BOY'S   BOOK 

grow  up  a  generation,  who  would  help  to  banish 
war  from  the  earth  1 

Avoid  contention  with  your  companions.  Use  no 
offensive  words,  and  when  you  see  others  disagree, 
strive  to  reconcile  them.  Repress  every  revengeful 
feeling.  If  any  one  has  injured  you,  do  not  injure 
them.  Try  to  set  them  a  better  example.  If  any 
speak  unfavourably  of  you,  it  is  well  to  do  them 
some  good  office.  Perhaps  you  can  lend  them  an 
interesting,  instructive  book,  whose  perusal  would 
lead  them  to  kinder  dispositions. 

To  render  evil  for  evil,  would  make  perpetual  dis- 
cord in  society.  Try,  therefore,  to  be  gentle  and  pa- 
tient to  those  who  seem  to  dislike  you.  Their  cold 
treatment  may  often  proceed  from  some  trifle,  which 
your  pleasant  manners  may  reconcile.  And  it  is  a 
pity,  to  lose  for  any  trifle,  the  benefits  of  friendly 
intercourse. 

When  in  company  with  your  associates,  do  not 
insist  always  on  having  your  own  way.  If  you  are 
in  the  habit  of  cheerfully  consulting  their  wishes, 
they  will  seek  your  society,  and  enjoy  it.  Thus 
you  will  acquire  influence  over  them,  and  this  in- 
fluence should  be  exerted  for  their  good. 

You  know  that  he  who  does  good  to  another,  uni- 
formly, and  from  a  right  principle,  promotes  his 
own  happiness.  It  is  indeed,  easy  to  love  those  who 
love  us,  but  to  be  kind  to  those,  who  are  unkind  to  us 
is  not  as  easy,  though  it  is  a  nobler  virtue. 

"  Do  not  suffer  yourself  to  hate  even  your  ene- 
mies, said  Plutarch,  for  in  doing  so,  you  contract  a 
vicious  habit  of  mind,  which  will  by  degrees  break 
out,  even  upon  your  friends,  or  those  who  are  indif- 


PEACEFUL  DISPOSITIONS.  11& 

ferent  to  you."  This  is  the  advice  of  a  heathen 
philosopher.  But  more  definite  and  sublime  are  the 
words  of  our  Redeemer,  "Love  your  enemies,  that 
ye  may  be  the  children  of  your  Father  in  Heaven, 
who  doeth  good  unto  the  evil  and  unthankful." 

By  preserving  peaceful  dispositions,  and  per- 
suading those  who  are  at  variance,  to  be  reconciled, 
you  will  be  serene  and  happy.  You  will  be  pur- 
suing an  education  which  will  fit  you  for  the  society 
of  angels.  Have  we  not  read  of  a  country,  where 
there  is  no  war? — where  peace  and  love  reign  in 
the  bosom  of  all  its  inhabitants  1 

That  country  is  Heaven.  We  hope  to  dwell  there 
when  we  die.  We  would  strive  to  cultivate  its  spirit 
while  on  earth.  How  else  can  we  be  permitted  to 
remain  there  1  The  scorpion  cannot  abide  in  the 
nest  of  the  turtle-dove,  nor  the  leopard  slumber  in 
the  lamb's  fold.  Neither  can  the  haters  of  peace 
find  a  home  in  those  blissful  regions. 

That  holy  Book,  which  is  the  rule  of  our  conduct 
— the  basis  of  our  hope,  has  promised  no  reward  to 
those  who  delight  in  the  shedding  of  blood.  But 
our  Saviour,  when  his  dwelling  was  in  tents  of  clay, 
— when  he  taught  the  listening  multitude  what  they 
must  do,  to  inherit  eternal  life,  said,  "Blessed  are 
the  peace-makers,  for  they  shall  be  called  the 
children  of  God." 


120  THE  BOY'S    BOOK. 


THE  GREY  COTTAGE. 

There  was  a  labouring  man,  who  built  a  cottage 
for  himself  and  wife.  A  dark  grey  rock  over-hung 
it,  and  helped  to  keep  it  from  the  winds.  When  the 
cottage  was  finished,  he  thought  he  would  paint  it 
grey,  like  the  rock.  And  so  exactly  did  he  get  the 
same  shade  of  colour,  that  it  looked  almost  as  if  the 
little  dwelling  sprang  from  the  bosom  of  the  rock 
that  sheltered  it. 

After  a  while  the  cottager  became  able  to  purchase 
a  cow.  In  the  summer  she  picked  up  most  of  her  own 
living  very  well.  But  in  the  winter,  she  needed  to  be 
fed  and  kept  from  the  cold.  So  he  built  a  barn  for  her. 
It  was  so  small  that  it  looked  more  like  a  shed  than 
a  barn.    But  it  was  quite  warm  and  comfortable. 

When  it  was  done,  a  neighbour  came,  and  said, 
"  what  colour  will  you  paint  your  barn  Vs  "  I  had  not 
thought  of  that,"  said  the  cottager.  "  Then  I  advise 
you  by  all  means,  to  paint  it  black ;  and  here  is  a 
pot  of  black  paint,  which  I  have  brought  on  purpose 
to  give  you." 

Soon,  after  another  neighbour  praised  his  neat  shed, 
and  expressed  a  wish  to  help  him  a  little  about  his 
building.  "  White,  is  by  far  the  most  genteel  colour,'' 
he  added,  "  and  here  is  a  pot  of  white  paint,  of 
which  I  make  you  a  present." 

While  he  was  in  doubt,  which  of  the  gifts  to  use, 
the  oldest  and  wisest  man  in  the  village  came  to 


THE  GREY    COTTAGE.  121 

visit  him.  His  hair  was  entirely  white,  and  every 
body  loved  him,  for  he  was  good  as  well  as  wise, 
r  When  the  cottager  had  told  him  the  story  of  the 
pots  of  paint,  the  old  man  said  "  he  who  gave  you 
the  black  paint,  is  one  who  dislikes  you,  and  wishes 
you  to  do  a  foolish  thing.  He  who  gave  you  the 
white  paint,  is  a  partial  friend,  and  desires  you  to 
make  more  show  than  is  wise. 

"  Neither  of  their  opinions  should  you  follow.  If 
the  shed  is  either  black  or  white,  it  will  disagree 
with  the  colour  of  your  house.  Moreover,  the  black 
will  draw  the  sun,  and  cause  the  edges  of  your 
boards  to  curl  and  split ;  and  the  white  will  look  well 
for  a  little  while  and  then  become  soiled,  and  need 
painting  anew. 

"Now,  take  my  advice,  and  mix  the  black  and 
white  together."  So  the  cottager  poured  one  pot  into 
the  other,  and  mixed  them  up  with  his  brushes,  and 
it  made  the  very  grey  colour,  which  he  liked,  and 
had  used  before,  upon  his  house. 

He  had  in  one  corner  of  his  small  piece  of  ground 
a  hop-vine,  whose  ripe  clusters  he  carefully  gather- 
ed. It  was  always  twined  around  two  poles,  which 
he  had  fastened  to  the  earth,  to  give  it  support.  But 
the  cottager  was  fond  of  building,  and  he  made  a 
little  arbour  for  it  to  run  upon,  and  cluster  about. 

He  painted  the  arbour  grey.  So  the  rock  and  the 
cottage,  and  the  shed,  and  the  arbour,  were  all  of  the 
same  grey  colour.  And  every  thing  around  looked 
neat  and  comfortable,  though  it  was  small  and  poor. 

When  the  cottager  and  his  wife  grew  old,  they 
were  sitting  together,  in  their  arbour,  at  the  sunset 
of  a  summer's  day.    A  stranger  who  seemed  to  be 
11 


122  the  boy's  book. 

looking  at  the  country,  stopped  and  inquired,  how 
every  thing  around  that  small  habitation  happened 
to  be  the  same  shade  of  grey. 

"  It  is  very  well  it  is  so,"  said  the  cottager,  "  for 
my  wife  and  I,  you  see,  are  grey  also.  And  we  have 
lived  so  long,  that  the  world  itself  looks  old  and 
grey  to  us  now." 

Then  he  told  him  the  story  of  the  black  and 
white  paint,  and  how  the  advice  of  an  aged  man 
prevented  him  from  making  his  little  estate  ridicu- 
lous when  he  was  young. 

"I  have  thought  of  this  circumstance,  so  often 
that  it  has  given  me  instruction.  He  who  gave  me 
the  black  paint,  proved  to  be  an  enemy ;  and  he 
who  urged  me  to  use  the  white,  was  a  friend.  The 
advice  of  neither  was  good. 

"  Those  who  love  us  too  well,  are  blind  to  our 
faults  ;  and  those  who  dislike  us,  are  not  willing  to 
see  our  virtues.  One  would  make  us  all  white ;  the 
other  all  black.  But  neither  of  them  are  right. 
For  we  are  of  a  mixed  nature,  good  and  evil,  like 
the  grey  paint,  made  of  opposite  qualities. 

"If  then,  neither  the  counsel  of  our  foes,  nor  of 
our  partial  friends,  is  safe  to  be  taken,  we  should 
cultivate  a  correct  judgment,  which,  like  the  grey 
paint,  mixing  both  together,  may  avoid  the  evil  and 
secure  the  good." 


PRIVILEGES   OF  THE  POOR.  123 


9|  PRIVILEGES  OF  THE  POOR. 

{ 

t  Do  I  hear  any  of  you  say,  "I  wonder  what  is 
meant  by  the  privileges  of  the  poor  ?  The  rich  have 
indeed,  many  advantages,  and  much  honour.  But  as 
for  the  poor,  I  always  thought  they  were  to  be 
pitied." 

Now,  I  assure  you,  that  the  poor  have  privileges, 
peculiar  to  themselves,  and  such  as  the  rich  cannot 
easily  share.  They  are  also  of  such  an  enduring 
nature,  that  it  will  be  found  difficult  to  take  them 
away.    Let  us  examine  what  they  are. 

Perhaps  you  have  seen  the  son  of  a  rich  man,  ex- 
pensively dressed,  and  riding  in  a  splendid  carriage. 
You  have  said  to  yourself,  how  happy  he  is  !  He  may 
be,  or  he  may  not  be.  That  depends  on  the  state 
of  matters  within.  If  his  heart  is  not  right,  external 
pomp  weighs  light  in  the  balance  of  happiness. 

One  of  the  privileges  of  the  poor,  is  the  industry, 
they  are  compelled  to  practise.  This,  not  only  pro- 
tects from  many  vices,  but  promotes  health,  and  self- 
approbation.  Indolence,  is  a  perpetual  weariness 
of  spirit, — a  perpetual  disobedience  to  the  will  of  our 
Creator.  Surely,  the  rich  are  more  in  danger  of  it, 
and  of  the  evils  that  it  brings. 

A  celebrated  divine  has  said,  "if  it  was  not  for 
industry,  men  would  be  neither  so  healthful,  nor  so 
useful, — so  strong,  nor  so  patient,  so  noble,  nor  so 
untempted.  There  is  no  greater  tediousness  in  the 
world,  than  want  of  employment.     Time   passes 


124  the  boy's  book. 

over  the  active  man  lightly,  like  a  dream,  or  the 
feathers  of  a  bird ;  but  the  idler  is  like  a  long  sleep- 
less night  to  himself,  and  a  load  to  his  country." 

Narrow  circumstances,  by  impelling  to  exertion, 
are  in  the  end,  a  blessing.  That  disposition  to  in- 
dolence, which  sometimes  exists  in  the  young  mind 
is  like  dampness  to  metal, — causing  rust  and  ruin, 
Nothing  so  readily  overcomes  this,  as  the  strong  ne- 
cessity of  making  efforts. 

Have  you  seen  a  water-wheel,  standing  idly  in  the 
sun,  when  the  stream  was  dry  1  But  the  clouds  de- 
scended, and  the  swift  torrent  rushed  upon  it,  and  it 
turned  briskly,  doing  its  maker's  will.  What  the 
stream  is,  to  the  water-wheel,  is  the  prompting  of  ne- 
cessity, to  the  mind. 

Admitting  that  the  young  assume  a  high  standard 
of  excellence,  the  feeling  that  they  can  derive  no  aid 
from  wealth,  but  must  depend  entirely  on  themselves 
acts  as  a  continual  stimulant : 

"  It  is  the  spur,  which  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise, 
To  shun  delights  j  and  live  laborious  days." 

Those  whose  object  is  to  obtain  an  education,  yet 
are  obliged  to  be  partially  occupied  in  other  labours, 
value  more  highly,  every  fragment  of  time,  than 
those  whose  leisure  is  uninterrupted?  A  sense  of 
the  value  of  time,  is  one  of  the  first  steps  to  improve- 
ment and  wisdom. 

Another  privilege,  is  the  habit  of  overcoming  ob- 
stacles. Strength  of  mind  and  moral  energy,  are 
thus  acquired.  A  life  of  self-indulgence  destroys 
the  power  of  acquiring  that  perseverance  which  is 


PRIVILEGES  OF   THE  POOR.  125 

daunted  by  no  difficulty,  and  without  which,  genius 
avails  little. 

If  distinction  is  gained,  by  those  who  rise  from 
obscure  stations,  it  is  rendered  more  illustrious  by 
the  contrast.  The  fame  of  Dr.  Franklin,  is  heightened 
by  the  circumstance,  that  he  was  a  printer's  bo)r, 
and  the  son  of  a  chandler  ;  and  that  of  Bentley,  the 
celebrated  English  scholar,  by  the  fact,  that  he  was 
the  son  of  a  blacksmith. 

Winckelman,  a  distinguished  writer  on  classical 
antiquities,  and  the  fine  arts,  was  the  son  of  a  shoe- 
maker. He  supported  himself  while  at  college, 
chiefly  by  teaching  younger  students,  and  at  the 
same  time,  aided  in  maintaining  his  poor,  sickly 
father. 

Bloomfield,  the  poet,  was  the  son  of  a  tailor,  and 
an  apprentice  to  a  shoemaker.  He  was  busily  em- 
ployed at  his  trade,  while  composing  the  "  Farmer's 
Boy,"  and  being  often  destitute  of  paper,  retained 
great  numbers  of  his  lines  in  memory,  until  he  could 
obtain  materials,  and  time  for  writing. 

The  celebrated  Metastasio,  was  the  son  of  a  poor 
mechanic.  The  father  of  Opie,  a  distinguished  por- 
trait-painter, was  a  carpenter ;  and  he,  himself,  was 
raised  from  the  bottom  of  a  saw-pit,  where  he  labour- 
ed as  a  wood-cutter,  to  the  professorship  of  painting 
in  the  Royal  Academy,  at  London. 

The  learned  Dr.  Prideaux,  bishop  of  Worcester, 
obtained  his  education,  by  walking  on  foot,  to  Ox- 
ford, and  getting  employment,  at  first,  as  assistant, 
in  the  kitchen  of  Exeter  College. 

Inigo  Jones,  the  great  architect,  was  the  son  of  a 
cloth-manufacturer,  and  it  was    intended  that  he 
11* 


126  the  boy's  book. 

should  be  a  mechanic.  Sir  Edmund  Saunders, 
Chief  Justice,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second, 
was  an  errand-boy. 

Dr.  Isaac  Milnor,  who  filled  the  same  chair  as  Profes- 
sor of  Mathematics,  at  Cambridge,  which  Sir  Isaac 
Newton  occupied,  was  once  a  weaver ;  as  was  also, 
his  brother,  the  author  of  the  well-known  Church 
History. 

Haydn,  the  celebrated  musical  composer,  was  the 
son  of  a  wheel-wright,  who  officiated  also  as  sex- 
ton ;  and  his  mother  was  a  servant  in  the  family  of 
a  neighbouring  nobleman. 

Dr.  White,  professor  of  Arabic,  in  the  University 
of  Oxford,  England,  was  originally,  a  weaver ;  and 
James  Ferguson,  the  celebrated  writer  on  Astronomy 
was  the  son  of  a  day-labourer. 

Having  discovered,  when  quite  a  child,  some  im- 
portant truths  in  mechanics,  he  went  on,  to  illustrate 
them,  without  teacher  or  book,  and  with  no  other 
tools,  than  a  little  knife,  and  a  simple  turning- 
lathe. 

While  in  the  employment  of  a  farmer,  he  improv- 
ed every  slight  interval  of  leisure,  in  constructing 
models,  during  the  day,  and  studying  the  stars  at 
night.  He  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Royal  So- 
ciety, and  king  George,  the  Third,  after  hearing  his 
lectures,  settled  on  him  an  annual  pension  ;  while  his 
writings  still  continue  the  admiration  of  men  of 
science. 

Those,  who  have  risen  from  humble  stations,  often 
recur  with  satisfaction,  to  the  steps  through  which 
they  had  been  led,  on  their  upward  way.  It  was 
pleasing  to  the  wise  Emperor  Aurelian,  to  have 


PRIVILEGES   OF   THE  POOR.  127 1 

it  known  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  peasant;  and 
Dioclesian  felt  that  the  splendour  of  his  sway  in 
Rome  was  heightened  by  his  obscure  birth,  in  Dal- 
matia. 

The  history  of  our  own  country,  is  brilliant  with 
self-made  men.  The  sons  of  farmers,  and  me- 
chanics, stand  in  the  high  places  of  our  land.  Their 
early  training  in  habits  of  industry,  perseverance, 
and  the  conquest  of  obstacles,  doubtless  strength- 
ened both  their  physical  and  intellectual  energies, 
and  prepared  them  to  become  illustrious. 

So  obvious  are  the  advantages  of  feeling  a  neces- 
sity for  exertion,  that  rich  men  have  sometimes 
wished  to  conceal  from  their  children,  during  the 
period  of  their  education,  the  knowledge  of  that 
wealth,  they  were  expected  to  inherit. 

There  was  once  a  parent,  who  endeavoured  to  per- 
suade his  son,  that  his  possessions  were  small, 
hoping  he  might  thus  be  stimulated  to  industry. 
He  constantly  said,  "  you  must  work, — you  must  be 
saving, — you  cannot  depend  on  me  to  enrich  you." 

For  a  time,  this  plan  had  some  effect.  But  like 
most  other  schemes  of  deception,  it  was  unfortunate. 
The  boy,  at  length  discovered,  that  his  father  had 
houses,  and  lands,  and  money,  and  was  informed  by 
talkative  companions,  that  he  would  inherit  them. 

It  was  most  painful  to  him,  to  distrust  the  recti- 
tude of  his  father.  Henceforth,  he  had  no  confi- 
dence in  his  word.  He  became  discontented  and 
gloomy,  and  lost  the  benefits  both  of  wealth  and 
poverty. 

It  would  have  been  safer  and  more  honourable, 
to  have  told  him  the  truth,  and  guarded  him  against 


128  the  boy's  book. 

the  dangers  of  wealth,  by  a  right  education.  And 
now,  have  I  succeeded  in  convincing  you,  that  there 
are  privileges,  which  belong  to  the  poor,  and  to  the 
sons  of  the  poor  1 

If  they  succeeded  in  gaining  knowledge,  and  we 
see  that  they  often  do,  it  would  seem  that  they  might 
be  excellent  teachers.  Remembering  the  difficulties 
through  which  they  had  themselves  passed,  they 
would  naturally  be  skilful  and  patient  guides,  and 
qualified  to  impart  somewhat  of  the  perseverance, 
and  moral  energy,  by  which  they  had  themselves 
profited. 

If  they  attain  distinguished  stations,  their  sympa- 
thies ought  to  be  more  active,  and  overflowing  than 
those  of  other  men.  They  know  how  to  enter  into 
the  feelings  of  the  humbler  classes  of  society,  and 
are  better  qualified  to  take  part  in  their  burdens, 
and  to  elevate  their  character. 

If  they  obtain  wealth,  they  know  how  to  use  it,  in 
the  relief  of  suifering.  It  is  difficult  for  a  man  nur- 
tured in  affluence,  who  has  never  felt  the  want  of  a 
garment,  or  a  meal,  or  a  shelter,  to  appreciate  their 
value,  or  correctly  to  feel  the  necessities  of  those, 
who  ask  his  charity. 

He  who  has  been  led,  by  a  rough  road,  to  a  state 
of  competence,  can  better  appreciate  the  force  and 
beauty,  of  that  inspired  description  of  a  compassion, 
ate  Redeemer,  who,  "  though  he  was  rich,  yet  for  om 
sakes  became  poor,  that  we,  through  his  poverty, 
might  be  made  rich." 

We  have  been  led  to  search  and  consider  the 
privileges  of  the  poor,  because,  being  less  apparent 
than  those  of  the  rich,  they  are  prone  to  be  over- 


THT  FATHER.  129 

looked.  But  we  would  not  deny,  that  wealth,  when 
under  the  guidance  of  virtue,  benevolence,  and  piety, 
is  a  great  blessing,  and  a  powerful  instrument  in 
their  cause. 

It  is  only,  when  divided  from  them,  or  disposed  to 
become  their  master,  that  wealth  is  to  be  deprecated 
as  a  danger.  It  is  only,  when  forgetful  of  the  good 
of  others,  that  it  ceases  to  advance  the  true  happi- 
ness of  its  possessor. 

Hoarded  up,  what  is  wealth  1  A  reproach  to  a 
rational  being.  A  chain,  binding  the  mind  to  low 
worldliness.  A  weight  to  the  soul,  when  it  separates 
from  the  clay,  and  goes  to  give  account  to  God,  in 
the  day  of  judgment. 


THY  FATHER. 

"  Grieve  not  thy  father,  as  long  as  he  liveth." 

Thy  father !    Why,  with  locks  of  snow 
Are  thus  his  sacred  temple  clad  ? 

Why  droops  he  o'er  his  staff  so  low, 
With  trembling  limbs  and  visage  sad ! 

Care  hath  his  brow  with  wrinkles  scarr'd, 
His  clustering  ringlets  shred  away, 

And  time  with  tyrant  sceptre  marr'd, 
The  glory  of  his  manhood's  sway. 

How  oft  that,  as  that  hand  hath  led 
Thine  infant  footsteps  weak  with  fear, 


130 


THE  BOY  S   BOOK. 


How  gently  bow'd  that  reverend  head, 
Thy  childhood's  broken  tale  to  hear  ; 

And  when  thy  wayward  feet  have  stray 'd 
Mid  youthful  follies  rashly  free, 

Those  lips  invok'd  at  midnight's-shade. 
The  pardon  of  thy  God  for  thee. 

If  from  his  speech  should  dotage  flow, 
Or  eye,  or  ear,  be  dull  and  dead, 

Thou,  to  his  second  childhood  show, 
The  love  that  smooth'd  thy  cradle  bed. 

Grieve  not  thy  sire  !  for  if  his  love 

Unblest,  or  unrequited  be, 
He,  whom  thou  call'st  thy  sire  above 

Will  bend  a  judge's  frown  on  thee. 


THY  MOTHER. 


Who,  when  thine  infant  life  was  young 
Delighted  o'er  thy  cradle  hung  1 
With  pity,  soothed  each  childish  moan, 
And  made  thy  little  griefs,  her  own  1 
Who  watched  thy  bed  in  hours  of  pain 
Nor  smiled,  till  thou  wert  well  again  1 
Who  sorrowed  from  thy  side  to  part 
And  bore  thee  absent  on  her  heart  1 
Thy  Mother,  boy  !  How  canst  thou  pay 
Her  tender  care,  by  night  and  day  1 


THY   MOTHER. 

Who  joined  thy  sports  with  cheerful  air, 
And  joy'd  to  see  thee  strong  and  fair  1 
Who  with  fond  pride,  to  guest  and  friend 
Would  still  the  darling  child  commend  1 
Whose  tears  in  secret  flow'd  like  rain 
If  sin,  or  woe,  thy  life  did  stain  1 
And  who,  with  prayer's  increasing  sigh 
Besought  for  thee,  a  home  on  high  ? 
Thy  Mother,  boy  !   How  canst  thou  pay 
Her  tireless  love,  by  night  and  gay  ] 

Be  gentle-temper'd,  kind  and  true, 

Whate'er  she  bids,  delight  to  do, 

With  earnest  diligence,  restrain 

The  word,  the  look,  that  gives  her  pain. 

If  weary  toil  her  path  invade 

Come  zealous  forth,  and  lend  thine  aid 

Nerve  thy  young  arm,  her  steps  to  guide, 

If  she  is  sick,  be  near  her  side, 

And  by  a  life  of  love  repay 

Thy  Mother's  care,  by  night  and  day. 

Grave  her  sweet  precepts  on  thy  breast, 
And  be  with  peace,  serenely  blest, 
Wear  on  thy  brow  the  lofty  smile, 
Of  upright  duty,  free  from  guile, 
Fear  God,  and  keep  his  holy  law, 
And  near  his  throne  devoutly  draw, 
But  dread  his  anger's  piercing  view 
Shouldest  thou  withhold  the  honour  due, 
Nor  with  a  life  of  goodness  pay, 
Thy  Mother's  love  by  night  and  day. 


131 


THE  BOY'S  BOOK. 


JOHN  AND  JAMES  WILLIAMS. 

John  and  James  Williams,  were  the  sons  of  a  New- 
England  farmer.  In  summer,  they  took  an  active 
part  in  his  labours,  and  during  the  winter  attended 
to  their  school-education.  Both  were  fond  of  books, 
but  their  taste  and  dispositions  were  different. 

One  cold  evening  in  winter,  they  were  sitting  be- 
side a  bright  fire  of  wood.  Their  lamp  cast  a 
cheerful  ray  over  the  snow-covered  landscape.  Sev- 
eral books  lay  on  the  table,  from  which  they  had 
been  studying  their  lessons  for  the  following  day. 

"John,"  said  the  youngest,  who  was  about  thirteen 
years  old,  "John,  I  mean  to  be  a  soldier.  I  have 
lately  been  reading  the  life  of  Alexander  of  Mace- 
don,  and  a  good  deal  about  Buonaparte.  I  think 
there  is  nothing  in  this  world,  like  the  glory  of  the 
warrior." 

"  It  does  not  strike  me  so,  James.  To  destroy  life, 
and  to  cause  mourning  in  such  a  multitude  of  fami- 
lies, and  to  bring  so  much  poverty  and  misery  into 
the  world,  seems  to  me,  more  cruel  than  glorious." 

"But  John,  to  be  so  praised  and  honoured, — to 
have  hosts  of  soldiers  under  your  command,  and  to 
have  the  pages  of  history  filled  with  the  fame  of 
your  victories,  how  can  you  be  blind,  to  such  glory 
as  that  ] 

"  Brother,  the  minister  said  last  Sunday,  that  the 
end  of  life,  was  the  test  of  its  goodness.  Now  Alexander 
the  Great,  got  intoxicated,  and  died  like  a  madman ; 


JOHN  AND  JAMES  WILLIAMS.  133 

and  Buonaparte  was  shut  up  to  pine  away  on  a  deso- 
late island,  as  if  he  was  a  wild  beast,  chained  in  a 
cage." 

"  John,  your  ideas  are  very  limited.  I  am  sorry  to 
see,  that  you  are  not  capable  of  admiring  heroes. 
You  are  just  fit  to  be  a  farmer.  I  dare  say  that  to 
break  a  pair  of  steers,  is  your  highest  ambition,  and 
to  spend  your  days  in  ploughing  and  reaping,  is  all 
the  glory  that  you  would  covet." 

Their  father's  voice  was  now  heard,  calling,  "  Boys, 
go  to  bed."  Thus  ended  their  conversation,  for  that 
night.  These  brothers  loved  each  other,  and  seldom 
disagreed  on  any  subject,  except  on  trying  to  settle 
the  point,  in  what  the  true  glory  of  the  warrior  con- 
sisted. 

Fifteen  years  glided  away,  and  the  season  of  win- 
ter again  returned.  From  the  same  window,  a  bright 
lamp  gleamed,  and  on  the  same  hearth  glowed  a 
cheerful  fire.  The  farm-house  seemed  unaltered, 
but  among  its  inmates,  there  had  been  changes. 

The  parents,  who  had  then  retired  to  rest,  were 
now  mouldering  in  the  grave.  They  were  good  and 
pious,  and  among  the  little  circle  of  their  native  vil- 
lage, their  memory  was  still  held  in  sweet  remem- 
brance. 

In  the  corner,  which  they  used  to  occupy,  their 
eldest  son,  and  his  wife,  were  seated.  A  babe  lay  in 
the  cradle,  and  two  other  little  ones,  breathed  quietly 
from  their  trundle-bed,  in  the  sweet  sleep  of  child- 
hood.   A  strong  blast,  with  snow,  shook  the  casement. 

"  I  always  think,  said  John  Williams,  about  my 
poor  brother,  in  stormy  nights,  especially  in  winter. 
So  many  years  have  past,  since  we  have  heard  from 
12 


134 

him,  and  his  way  of  life  is  so  full  of  danger,  that  I 
fear  he  must  be  numbered  with  the  dead." 

"  Husband,  did  I  hear  a  faint  knock  1  or  was  it  the 
wind  among  the  trees'?"  said  his  wife.  The  farmer 
opened  the  door,  and  a  traveller  entered,  leaning 
heavily  on  a  crutch.  His  garments  were  old  and 
thin,  and  his  countenance  haggard. 

He  sank  into  a  chair,  and  gazed  earnestly  around 
on  every  article  of  furniture,  as  on  some  recollected 
friend.  Then,  extending  a  withered  hand,  he  utter- 
ed in  a  tone  scarcely  audible,  "  brother !  brother !" 

That  word,  opened  the  tender  memories  of  other 
years.  They  hastened  to  welcome  the  wanderer, 
and  to  mingle  their  tears  with  his.  "  Sister,  brother, 
I  have  come  home  to  die."  They  found  him  too 
much  exhausted  to  converse,  and  after  giving  him 
comfortable  food,  induced  him  to  retire  to  rest. 

The  next  morning,  he  was  unable  to  rise.  They 
sat  by  his  bedside,  and  soothed  his  worn  heart  with 
kindness,  and  told  him  the  simple  narrative  of  the 
changes  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  what  had  befallen 
them,  in  their  quiet  abode. 

"I  have  had  many  troubles,  said  he,  but  none 
have  bowed  me  down,  like  the  sin  of  leaving  home, 
to  be  a  soldier,  without  the  knowledge  of  my  parents, 
and  against  their  will.  I  have  felt  the  pain  of 
wounds,  but  there  is  nothing  like  the  sting  of  con- 
science. 

"I  have  endured  hunger,  and  thirst,  and  imprison- 
ment, and  the  misery  of  sickness  in  an  enemy's 
land ;  and  then  the  image  of  my  home,  and  my  dis- 
obedience, and  ingratitude,  were  with  me  when  I 


JOHN  AND  JAMES   WILLIAMS.  135 

lay  down,  and  when  I  rose  up,  and  when  I  was 
sleepless  and  sick  in  the  neglected  hospitals. 

"In  broken  visions,  I  would  see  my  dear  mother 
bending  tenderly  over  me,  as  she  used  to  do,  when  I 
had  only  a  head-ache ;  and  my  father  with  the 
great  Bible  in  his  hand,  reading  as  he  used  to  do 
before  prayer;  but  when  I  cried,  out  in  agony,  'I 
am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son,'  I  awoke, 
and  it  was  all  a  dream." 

His  brother  assured  him  of  the  perfect  forgiveness 
of  his  parents,  and  that  duly,  at  morn,  and  eve,  he 
was  borne  upon  their  supplications,  at  the  family 
altar,  as  the  son  erring,  yet  beloved.  "  Ah,  yes,  and 
those  prayers  followed  me.  But  for  them  I  should 
have  been  a  reprobate,  forsaken  both  of  God  and 
man." 

As  strength  permitted,  he  told  them  the  story  of 
his  wanderings.  He  had  been  in  battles,  on  land 
and  sea.  He  had  heard  the  deep  ocean  echo  to  the  can- 
non's thunder,  and  seen  earth  drink  the  red  shower 
from  the  bosoms  of  her  slaughtered  sons. 

He  had  stood  in  the  martial  lists  of  Europe,  and 
hazarded  his  life  for  a  foreign  power,  and  had  pur- 
sued in  his  native  land,  the  hunted  Indian  flying  at 
midnight,  from  the  flames  of  his  own  hut.  He  had 
ventured  with  the  bravest,  into  the  deepest  danger, 
seeking  every  where,  for  the  glory  which  had  daz- 
zled his  boyhood,  but  in  vain. 

He  found  that  it  was  the  lot  of  the  soldier  to  en- 
dure hardship,  that  others  might  reap  the  fame.  He 
saw  what  fractures,  and  mutilations,  what  misery, 
and  mourning,  and  death,  were  necessary  to  pur- 
chase the  reward  of  victory.    He  felt  how  light  was 


136  the  boy's  book. 

even  the  renown  of  the  conqueror,  compared  with 
the  good  that  he  forfeits,  and  the  sorrow  that  he  in- 
flicts to  obtain  it 

"  Sometimes,  he  said,  just  before  rushing  into  bat- 
tle, I  felt  a  shuddering  and  inexpressible  horror,  at 
the  thought  of  butchering  my  fellow-creatures.  But 
in  the  heat  of  contest,  all  such  sympathies  vanished, 
and  madness  and  desperation  possessed  me,  so  that 
I  cared  neither  for  this  life  nor  the  next. 

"  I  have  been  left  wounded  on  the  field,  unable  to 
move  from  among  the  feet  of  trampling  horses,  my 
open  gashes  stiffening  in  the  chilly  night-air,  and 
death  staring  me  in  the  face,  while  no  man  cared 
for  my  soul.  Yet  I  will  not  distress  your  kind  hearts, 
by  describing  my  varieties  of  pain. 

"You,  who  have  always  lived  amid  the  influences 
of  mercy, — who  shrink  to  give  unnecessary  suffer- 
ing, even  to  an  animal,  cannot  realize  what  hardness 
of  heart,  comes  with  the  life  of  a  soldier,  familiar 
as  he  must  be  with  groans,  and  violence,  and  cruelty. 

"His  moral  and  religious  feelings,  are  in  still 
greater  danger.  Oaths,  imprecations,  and  contempt 
of  sacred  things,  are  mingled  with  the  elements  of 
his  trade.  The  sweet  and  holy  influences  of  the 
Sabbath,  and  the  precepts  of  the  Gospel,  impressed 
upon  his  childhood,  are  too  often  swept  away. 

"Yet  though  I  exerted  myself  to  appear  bold  and 
courageous,  and  even  hardened,  my  heart  reproached 
me.  Oh,  that  it  might  be  purified  by  repentance, 
and  at  peace  with  God,  before  I  am  summoned  to 
the  dread  bar  of  judgment,  to  answer  for  my  deeds 
of  blood." 

His  friends  flattered  themselves,  that,  by  medical 


JOHN  AND  JAMES  WILLIAMS.  137 

skill,  and  careful  nursing,  he  might  be  restored  to 
health.  But  he  answered  "  no,  it  can  never  be.  My 
vital  energies  are  wasted.  Even  now,  is  Death  stand- 
eth  at  my  right  hand." 

"  When  I  entered  this  peaceful  valley,  my  swollen 
limbs  tottered,  and  began  to  fail.  Then  I  prayed  to 
the  Almighty,  whom  1  had  so  often  forgotten,  "  Oh, 
give  me  strength  but  a  little  longer,  that  I  may 
reach  the  home  where  I  was  born,  and  die  there, 
and  be  buried  by  the  side  of  my  father  and  my 
mother." 

The  sick  and  penitent  soldier,  sought  earnestly  for 
the  hope  of  salvation.  He  felt  that  a  great  change 
was  needed  in  his  soul,  ere  it  could  be  fitted  for  the 
holy  employments  of  a  realm  of  purity  and  peace. 
He  prayed,  and  wept,  and  studied  the  Scriptures, 
and  listened  to  the  counsel  of  pious  men. 

"  Brother,  dear  brother,  he  would  say,  you  have 
obeyed  the  precepts  of  our  parents.  You  have  chosen 
the  path  of  peace.  You  have  been  merciful  even  to 
the  inferior  creatures.  You  have  shorn  the  fleece, 
but  not  wantonly  destroyed  the  lamb.  You  have 
taken  the  honey,  and  spared  the  labouring  bee. 

"But  I  have  destroyed  man,  and  his  habitation, — 
the  hive,  and  the  honey, — the  fleece  and  the  flock. 
I  have  defaced  the  image  of  God,  and  crushed  out 
that  breath,  which  I  can  never  restore.  You  know 
not,  how  bitter  is  the  warfare  of  my  soul  with  the 
*  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air,  the  spirit  that  ruleth 
in  the  children  of  disobedience.'  " 

As  the  last  hour  approached,  he  laid  his  cold  hand 
on  the  head  of  his  brother's  eldest  child,  who  had 
been  named  for  him,  and  said  faintly,  "Little  James 
12* 


138  the  boy's  book. 

obey  your  parents,  and  never  be  a  soldier.  Sister, 
brother,  you  have  been  angels  of  mercy  to  me.  The 
blessing  of  God,  be  upon  you,  and  your  house- 
hold." 

The  venerable  minister  who  instructed  his  child- 
hood, and  laid  his  parents  in  the  grave,  had  daily 
visited  him  in  his  sickness.  He  stood  by  his  side, 
as  he  went  down  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death.  "My  son,  look  unto  the  Lamb  of  God." 
"  Yes,  father,  there  is  a  fullness  in  Him,  for  the  chief 
of  sinners." 

The  aged  man  lifted  up  his  fervent  prayer  for  the 
departing  soul.  He  commended  it  to  the  boundless 
compassions  of  Him  who  receiveth  the  penitent,  and 
besought  for  it,  a  gentle  passage  to  that  world, 
where  there  is  no  more  sin,  neither  sorrow,  nor 
crying. 

He  ceased.  The  eyes  of  the  dying  were  closed. 
There  was  no  more  heaving  of  the  breast,  or 
gasping.  They  thought  the  breath  had  quitted  the 
clay.  They  spoke  of  him  as  having  passed  where 
all  tears  are  wiped  from  the  eyes  for  ever. 

But  again  there  was  a  faint  sigh.  The  white  lips 
slowly  moved.  His  brother  bending  over  him 
caught  the  last,  low  whisper,  "  Jesus !  Saviour  !  take 
a  repentant  sinner  to  the  world  of  peace." 


THE  ROBIN.  139 


THE  ROBIN. 

The  Spring  is  near,  with  its  warbling  throng, 

And  the  Robin  is  on  the  tree, 
Through  grove  and  garden,  he  speeds  along, 
He  comes  with  a  song,— «he  comes  with  a  song, 

And  he'll  be  a  neighbour  to  thee. 

See,  that  is  his  mate  by  his  side,  I  ween, 

And  who  are  so  happy  as  they  1 
Their  chamber  is  shaded  with  curtains  green, 
Three  little  blue  eggs  in  its  bed  are  seen, 

And  their  rent  with  a  song  they'll  pay. 

She  broods  o'er  the  nest,  while  his  wing  is  spread, 

Wherever  their  food  may  be  found, 
'Tis  to  her  that  he  hastes  with  that  morsel  of  bread, 
The  shot  of  the  fowler  f  alas,  he  is  dead  ! 

He  lies  bleeding  on  the  ground. 

And  all  day  long,  that  widow'd  bird, 

For  her  partner  call'd  in  vain, 
And  if  at  midnight,  the  branches  stirr'd, 
She  thought  'twas  his  well-known  wing  she  heard. 

But  he  never  return'd  again. 

Half  famish'd,  she  sped  in  her  deep  despair, 

To  search  for  a  crumb  or  seed, 
When  a  truant  boy  with  a  reckless  air, 
Climb'd  up  to  her  nest,  and  I  cannot  bear 

To  tell  of  his  cruel  deed. 


10  THE  BOY'S    BOOK. 

She  hastened  back,  but  what  met  her  view 

As  she  soar'd  with  an  eager  eye  1 
Her  home  was  wreck'd,  and  its  treasures  too, 
And  round  and  round  in  her  anguish  she  flew, 

With  a  loud  and  frantic  cry. 

And  there  through  many  a  summer's  day, 

Her  piercing  wail  was  heard, 
Till  once  near  that  desolate  home  there  lay, 
A  famish'd  Robin,  as  cold  as  clay, 

And  I  knew  'twas  that  mourner-bird. 

Then  I  thought  of  the  boy  who  rifled  her  nest, 

How  bitter  his  tears  must  flow, 
When  conscience  should  wake  in  his  sinful  breast, 
And  trouble  his  dream,  and  break  his  rest, 

With  the  cry  of  that  Robin's  woe. 


SCENES  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

Come,  tread  with  me  yon  changeful  dells, 
Where  beauty  into  grandeur  swells, 
Where  the  chaf  d  stream,  conflicting  hoarse, 
O'erleaps  the  mounds  that  barr'd  its  course, 
And  threatening  wild,  with  gather'd  wrath, 
Rolls  sullen  on  its  rocky  path. 

That  cliff!*  methinks  the  Indian  cry, 
Peals  from  its  summit  shrill  and  high  ; 

*  In  Norwich,  Connecticut,  there  is  a  steep  rock  overhang- 
ing a  branch  of  the  Thames,  from  which  it  is  said  that  part 
of  a  tribe  of  vanquished  Indians  were  precipitated  by  their 
victors,  and  perished. 


SCENES   OF  CHILDHOOD.  141 

Back  sweeps  the  past !  the  Indian  foe, 
Sinks  weltering  in  the  depths  below, 
While  peering  o'er  those  ledges  steep, 
Stern  watch,  the  lynx-eyed  victors  keep.         * 

See'st  thou  yon  hills,  so  bold  and  sheen, 

With  coronet  of  ever-green  1 

See'st  thou  close  nestling  at  their  feet, 

A  village  with  its  fair  retreat, 

Where  engines  clash,  with  labour  glowing, 

And  toil  to  wealth,  the  way  is  showing  1 

There,  erst,  in  childish  sports  I've  strayed, 

Amid  an  unshorn  thicket's  glade, 

And  pleased,  from  tangled  herbage  drew, 

The  Indian  posy's  mottled  hue, 

Hare-bells,  and  violets,  sweetly  blue, 

Or  columbines,  with  purple  dy'd, 

Or  rich  lobelia's  crimson  pride. 

Press  on,  press  on,  for  see  how  near, 
The  city's  loftier  domes  appear, 
Its  roofs  in  strange  confusion  blending, 
Its  hallow'd  spires  to  heaven  ascending, 
Its  sails  their  snowy  whiteness  lending, 
To  the  broad  river's  curving  sweep, 
Which  half  in  shadow  seems  to  sleep. 

Dark  forests'  rise,  in  solemn  line, 
As  if  the  bending  skies  to  join  ; 
Green  fields  their  ample  robes  extend, 
To  catch  the  treasures  that  descend, 
When  loaded  trees  their  blossoms  fling, 
Swept  by  the  vernal  zephyr's  wing. 


142  the  boy's  book. 

Ask  ye  what  spell  doth  linger  here, 
To  make  this  scenery  doubly  dear  1 
Go  ask  of  him  who  ne'er  repines, 
Where  Hecla's  fire  volcanic  shines, 
Of  him,  who  dead  to  comfort,  dwells 
In  cold  Labrador's  ice-bound  cells, 
Of  him,  who  clings  to  Afric's  strand, 
Like  infant  to  a  mother's  hand. 

The  Switzer  ask,  whose  cabin  rude, 
Like  bird's  nest  hangs  o'er  rock  and  flood  ; 
The  Cambrian,  climbing  ledges  steep, 
His  famish'd  mountain  goats  to  keep : 
Ask  the  Siberian  boor,  who  knows 
The  horrors  of  the  arctic  snows  ; 
Or  the  swarth  islanders,  who  hear, 
The  dread  Pacific  thundering  near  : 

Yes,  ask  of  all,  and  when  they  say, 

"This  is  my  spot  of  birth" 
Then  will  ye  know,  what  charm  hath  made 
To  me,  yon  well-remember'd  glade, 
River  and  rock  and  greenwood  shade, 

The  Paradise  of  earth. 


THE  LAW. 

The  ancient  Jews  used  to  call  their  sons,  when  they 
attained  the  age  of  five  years,  "  sons  of  the  law."  At 
thirteen,  the  Roman  boys,  who  were  trained  in  the 


THE  LAW.  143 

habits  of  strict  obedience  by  the  mother,  passed 
under  the  sterner  discipline  of  the  father,  to  be  pre- 
pared for  the  duties  of  a  citizen. 

Parental  authority,  thus  carefully  enforced  on 
children,  led  them  when  they  became  men,  to  sub- 
mit peacefully,  to  the  law  of  the  land.  Have  you 
ever  considered  what  a  blessing  it  is,  to  be  governed 
by  just  laws  1  Without  them,  there  is  no  protection 
either  to  property,  or  to  life. 

Look  at  the  countries  which  are  ruled  by  a  despot. 
Think  of  the  people,  who,  of  old,  built  the  pyramids, 
or  of  those  who  still  labour  on  the  canals,  and  pub- 
lic works  of  Egypt,  driven  from  their  homes,  subject 
to  un  pitied  toil,  with  scarce  sufficient  wages  to  sup- 
port existence.  Yet  to  whom  could  they  appeal? 
He  who  caused  their  misery,  must  be  their  judge. 

The  Greeks,  when  under  the  Turkish  yoke,  strove 
to  conceal  the  little  pittance  they  had  earned,  or  the 
slender  harvest  of  their  vine  and  olive,  lest  it  should 
excite  the  avarice  of  their  oppressors,  and  the  bread 
be  snatched  from  their  starving  households.  You 
will  recollect  the  Turks  themselves,  are  liable  to  the 
bastinado,  the  bow-string,  or  the  scimitar,  at  the  will 
of  a  tyrant. 

Even  our  own  ancestors,  the  people  of  England, 
were  subject  to  many  encroachments  and  wrongs, 
before  Magna  Charta,  the  foundation  of  their  liberty 
was  obtained  from  King  John,  somewhat  more  than 
six  hundred  years  ago,  which  guards  every  individ- 
ual, in  the  enjoyment  of  his  property,  and  life,  un- 
less either  or  both,  should  be  declared  forfeit,  by  the 
laws  of  the  land. 

How  thankful  should  we  be,  that  the  happiness  of 


144  the  boy's  book. 

our  nation,  is  protected  by  those  just  and  equal 
laws,  without  which,  there  is  no  true  liberty.  These 
should  be  obeyed,  and  the  magistrates  who  adminis- 
ter them,  respected.  In  order  to  become  a  good  citi- 
zen, principles  of  submission  to  just  authority, 
should  be  carried  through  the  whole  of  education. 

Sometimes,  boys  imagine,  that  to  appear  to  be 
their  own  masters,  is  manly,  and  to  speak  lightly  of 
their  superiors,  gives  them  consequence.  They  are 
mistaken.  Insubordination  shows  either  an  erring 
judgment,  or  a  wayward  heart.  History  will  show 
that  the  greatest  and  best  men,  were  obedient  in 
their  childhood.  Reverence  for  those  in  authority, 
is  always  beautiful  in  youth. 

A  good  scholar  will  be  obedient  to  his  teachers. 
He  will  learn  the  rules  of  the  school,  and  keep 
them.  He  will  never  repay  those  who  labour  for 
his  instruction,  by  subverting  their  regulations.  By 
his  orderly,  dignified  deportment,  and  his  care  to 
keep  the  law  of  knowledge,  he  proves  that  he  will 
"become  a  worthy  citizen,  perhaps,  a  wise  magis- 
trate. 

The  virtues  of  a  good  member  of  the  community 
have  their  root  in  family-order,  and  filial  duty.  The 
first  law  laid  upon  every  child,  is  obedience  to  his  pa- 
rents. Love,  submission  and  respect,  are  their  due.  If 
he  is  unfaithful  in  these  earliest,  simplest  requisitions, 
will  he  not  fearfully  fail  amid  the  more  complex 
and  difficult  duties  of  life  1 

Is  it  possible  that  any  of  you,  can  deem  of  slight 
importance,  your  conduct  to  your  parents  1  Stran- 
gers and  travellers  in  an  unexplored  country,  will 
you  disobey  your  guides  1    Untaught  by  experience, 


THE   LAW.  145 

will  you  rush  into  temptation,  and  disregard  the 
voice  of  your  counsellors  1  Subject  to  sorrow  and 
affliction,  will  you  be  indifferent  to  your  comforters, 
— ungrateful  to  the  guardians  of  your  helpless  in- 
fancy 1  ' 

Beware  of  the  vanity  which  whispers,  you  are 
competent  to  direct  yourselves.  Beware  of  the  unim- 
pressible  temper  which  despises  parental  admonition 
and  of  the  obstinacy  that  breaks  through  its  restraints. 
Neither  is  it  enough  simply  to  obey  your  parents. 
You  are  bound  to  do  all  in  37-our  power  to  promote 
their  happiness.  i 

Reflect  on  their  cares  and  anxietiesr  their  watch- 
ings  and  labours  for  you ;  how  they  have  had  pa- 
tience with  your  ignorance,  and  loved  you  amid  all 
your  faults,  with  a  changeless  love.  Can  you  ever 
receive  favours  like  these,  from  any  other  created 
being  ?  j 

Next  to  your  Father  in  Heaven,  love  and  obey 
your  parents.  Conform  your  wishes  to  theirs.  By 
your  smiling  brow,  and  respectful  manners,  show 
them  that  you  find  happiness  in  the  exercise  of  filial 
affections.  For  if  you  carelessly  afflict  those,  whom 
you  can  never  fully  repay,  Hope  must  sigh  over 
the  fading  promise  of  your  future  years. 

When  our  Saviour,  at  the  age  of  twelve,  reasoned 
with  the  Jewish  doctors,  who  boasted  of  their  learn- 
ing, and  skill  in  argument,  he  was  subject  to  the 
commands  of  his  mother,  even  while  she,  astonished 
at  his  wisdom,  "  kept  all  his  sayings,  and  pondered 
them  in  her  heart." 

Amid  the  lightnings  that  wrapped  Mount  Sinai,  in 
robes  of  flame,  and  the  thunders  that  shook  it  to  its 


146 

"base,  when  the  people  were  afraid  to  come  near, 
and  even  Moses,  the  man  of  God,  trembled,  the  voice  of 
the  Eternal,  giving  the  Law,  in  terror  and  in  majesty, 
was  heard  to  proclaim  "  Honour  thy  father  and  thy  mo- 
ther." 

Still,  He,  who  "  in  wrath  ever  delights  to  remember 
mercy,  paused  with  unspeakable  condescension  to  add 
the  cheering  promise,  "  that  thy  days  may  be  long  up- 
on the  land,  which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee." 

Let  these  words  of  the  Almighty,  encourage  to 
perseverance,  those  who  keep  reverently  the  law 
of  their  parents,  and  arrest  those  who  "know  the 
right,  and  yet  the  wrong  pursue."  But  whoever,  in 
this  respect,  stifles  the  voice  of  conscience,  should 
remember,  that  at  last,  a  course  of  disobedience, 
will  be  found  to  "  bite  as  the  serpent,  and  sting  as 
the  adder." 

While  we  insist  on  filial  duty,  as  not  only  binding 
in  itself,  but  the  foundation  of  other  virtues,  we  feel 
that  not  the  young  alone,  are  "  under  tutors  and  gov- 
ernors." We  all  owe  the  obedience  of  children,  to 
the  Former  of  our  bodies, — the  Father  of  our  spirits. 
The  wisest,  and  the  mightiest,  to  whom  he  has  given 
his  Holy  Word,  are  bound  to  be  governed  by  it. 

He  has  placed  us  in  this  world,  as  in  a  great 
school.  We  are  all  pupils.  The  Divine  Law,  is  our 
schoolmaster.  It  takes  cognizance  of  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions.  Death  announces  when  our 
school  is  over.  But  he  does  so,  only  when  our  eye 
is  dim,  to  the  light  of  these  lower  skies.  Then  may 
we  find  that  God's  law  has  been  so  kept  in  our 
hearts,  that  we  may  receive  "  the  adoption  of  sons," 
and  dwell  with  him  for  ever. 


THE  DIVIDED  BUBDEN.  147 


THE  DIVIDED  BURDEN. 

I  saw  a  boy,  who  toward  his  cottage-home, 
A  heavy  burden  bore.    The  way  was  steep, 
And  rocky,  and  his  little,  loaded  arm, 
Strain'd  downward  to  its  full  extent,  while  wide 
The  other,  horizontally  was  thrown, 
As  if  to  counterpoise  the  painful  weight, 
That  drew  him  toward  the  earth. 

A  while  he  paus'd, 
And  set  his  burden  down,  just  where  the  path 
Grew  more  precipitous,  and  wip'd  his  brow 
With  his  worn  sleeve,  and  panting  breath'd  long 

draughts 
Of  the  sweet  air,  while  the  hot  summer  sun, 
Flam'd  o'er  his  forehead. 

But  another  boy 
'Neath  a  cool  poplar,  in  a  neighbouring  field, 
Sat  playing  with  his  dog,  and  from  the  grass 
Uprising,  with  light  bound,  the  fence  he  clear'd, 
And  lent  a  vigorous  hand  to  share  the  toil. 
So,  on  they  went  together,  grasping  firm 
The  basket's  handle,  with  a  right,  good  will, 
And  while  their  young,  clear  voices  met  my  ear, 
I  recollected  how  the  Bible  said, 
"Bear  one  another's  burdens,"  and  perceiv'd 
That  to  obey  God's  word  was  happiness. 

Then  as  the  bee  gleans  from  the  humblest  flower 
Sown  by  the  way-side,  honey  for  her  hive, — 


.148  the  boy's  book. 

I  treasur'd  up  the  lesson,  and  when  eve 
Call'd  home  the  labouring  ox,  and  to  its  bed 
Warn'd  the  young  bird,  and  shut  the  lily's  cup, 
I  took  my  little  boy  upon  my  knee, 
And  told  him  of  the  basket-bearer's  toil, 
And  of  the  friend  who  help'd  him. 

When  his  eye 
Swell'd  full,  and  round,  and  fix'd  upon  my  face, 
Taking  the  story  to  his  inmost  soul ; 
I  said,  "  My  son,  be  pitiful  to  all, 
And  aid  them  when  thou  canst. 

For  God  hath  sown 
Sweet  seeds  within  us,  seeds  of  sympathy 
Whose  buds  are  virtues,  such  as  bloom  for  heaven. 

If  thy  young  sister  weepeth,  kiss  the  tear 
From  her  smooth  cheek,  and  sooth  with  tender  words 
Her  swelling  breast ;  or  if  a  secret  thorn 
Is  in  thy  brother's  bosom  ;  draw  it  thence  : 
Or  if  thy  playmate  sorroweth,  lend  an  ear, 
And  share  with  sympathy  his  weight  of  woe. 

And  when  thou  art  a  man,  my  little  one, 
Still  keep  thy  spirit  open  to  the  ills 
Of  foreigner  and  stranger,  of  the  race 
Whom  Afric's  sun  hath  darken'd,  and  of  those, 
Poor  red-brow'd  exiles,  from  our  forest-shades, 
Where  once  they  ruled  supreme. 

Thus  shalt  thou  shun 
That  selfishness,  which  wrapp'd  in  its  own  gifts, 
Forgets  alike  the  Giver,  and  the  grief 
Of  those  who  mourn. 


THE  PRISONER'S   QUESTION.  149 

So  may'st  thou  ever  find 
Pity  and  love,  in  thine  own  time  of  need, 
If  on  thy  young  heart,  as  a  signet-ring, 
Thou  gav'st  that  motto  from  a  Book  Divine, 
"Bear  one  another's  burdens,  and  fulfil 
The  law  of  Christ." 


THE  PRISONER'S  QUESTION. 

The  Chaplain  of  one  of  the  penitentiaries  in  the  United  States,  mentions 
that  a  prisoner  once  earnestly  inquired  of  him,  if  happy  spirits  ever 
looked  from  heaven,  upon  the  friends  they  had  left  behind,  and  at  his 
reply,  exclaimed  in  agony,  "  My  mother !  oh,  my  mother  !" 

He  stood  within  his  prison-gate, 

That  lonely  man  of  crime, 
Upon  whose  brow,  an  early  guilt 

Had  done  the  work  of  time. 

For  where  the  baleful  passions  boil, 
Though  form  and  cheek  are  fair, 

Their-poison  fumes  distain  the  charms, 
That  beauty  lavish'd  there. 

Then  reaching  through  those  iron  bars, 

The  chaplain's  hand  he  wrung, 
Who  warned  him  of  his  Maker's  wrath, 

With  an  unflattering  tongue. 

One  question  more .'" — the  holy  man 

Turn'd  at  his  eager  cry, 
And  bent  him  toward  that  darken'd  cell, 

With  pity  in  his  eye. 
13* 


150 


"  Think'st  thou,  that  those  who  lov'd  us  here, 

Who  now  do  reign  in  bliss, 
E'er  from  that  glorious  sphere  look  down, 

To  note  the  deeds  of  this  ?" 

"  We  know  not, — said  his  reverend  guide 

God's  volume  doth  not  say, 
But  nature  speaking  in  our  hearts, 

Makes  answer  that  they  may." 

Then  sorrow  seiz'd  that  erring  man, 

The  struggle  shook  him  sore, 
Till  unaccustom'd  tears  fell  down, 

Upon  his  dungeon-floor ; 

"  Oh  mother  !  mother !  if  thine  eye 

Must  see  thy  darling  son, 
Here,  'mid  the  vilest  of  the  vile, 

Would  that  my  life  were  done." 

And  long  those  strain'd  and  turning  orbs, 

Pour'd  forth  the  bitter  rain, 
But  Thou,  who  hear'st  the  sinner's  cry, 

Say,  was  this  anguish  vain  ! 

Perchance,  even  then,  that  mother's  prayer, 

Which  blest  his  cradle-bed, 
Did  win  its  answer  for  his  soul, 

And  snatch  it  from  the  dead. 


THE  FARMER.  151 


THE  FARMER. 

One  of  the  most  desirable  occupations,  is  that  of 
the  farmer.  How  pleasant  to  be  abroad  among  the 
works  of  nature, — to  study  the  adaptation  of  soil  to 
production, — to  prepare  the  earth  for  its  future  crop, 
— to  sow  the  seed, — to  gather  in  the  harvest. 

It  is  delightful  to  see  the  farmer,  separating  from 
their  lofty  stalks,  the  golden  sheaves  of  corn,  or 
burying  his  bright  scythe,  among  the  dewy,  fragrant 
grass,  or  hastening  with  his  sickle,  to  reap  the  ripen- 
ed grain.  His  faithful  dog,  guards  the  garment 
which  he  throws  off,  and  ere  the  noon-day  heat, 
seated  under  a  shady  tree,  he  opens  his  basket  of  re- 
freshments, and  finds  them  sweetened  by  toil. 

How  conducive  is  this  kind  of  industry,  to  vigour 
of  constitution.  Compare  the  strong  frame,  and 
firm  muscle  of  the  hardy  farmer,  with  the  slender 
forms,  and  pallid  faces  of  the  throngs  who  labour  in 
our  crowded  manufactories,  breathing  a  close  atmos- 
phere, and  debarred  from  healthful  exercise,  among 
rural  objects. 

Cheerfulness  and  innocence  are  connected  with 
the  lite  of  a  farmer.  Large  cities,  abound  with 
countless  temptations,  to  extravagance  and  vice. 
Vagrant  and  idle  people  gather  there,  desiring  to  be 
rich  without  labour,  and  thus  opening  the  door  to 
crimes,  which,  in  an  agricultural  community,  are  un- 
known. 


152  the  boy's  book. 

The  farmer  is  the  most  truly  independent  man. 
Let  the  gains  of  trade  fluctuate  as  they  may,  and 
the  glittering  hopes  of  speculation  break,  like  bub- 
bles in  the  sun,  his  subsistence  is  secure.  In  the 
furrows  of  his  plough,  bread  springs  up.  His  young 
cattle  grow,  while  he  sleeps. 

His  snowy  flocks, — his  green  fields  of  flax,  con- 
tain the  elements  of  his  clothing.  His  wife  and 
daughters  sing,  while,  their  busy  wheels  prepare  it. 
They  transmute  the  milk  of  his  herds,  into  comforts 
for  his  table,  while  with  equal  industry,  his  bees  ex- 
plore the  flowery  meadows,  to  bring  home  honey  to 
his  hive. 

His  children,  so  far  from  being  a  burden,  add  to 
his  wealth.  They  willingly  put  their  hands  to  such 
labours,  as  their  strength  admits  of,  and  their  ruddy 
cheeks  show  their  healthful  contentment.  The  play- 
ful lambs,  and  the  young  of  the  domestic  fowls,  are 
objects  of  their  care,  and  they  find  their  happiness 
in  safe  and  simple  pleasures. 

The  winter-evenings  are  a  delightful  season,  in  the 
family  of  an  intelligent  farmer.  He  has  then  a  re- 
spite from  more  laborious  occupation,  and  loves  to 
read  instructive  books,  to  the  group  around  his  fire- 
side, while  the  needle,  the  knitting-needles,  the  quiet 
hum  of  the  flax-wheel,  or  the  rocking  cradle  of  the 
babe,  are  no  disturbance  to  the  listening  mind. 

Sometimes,  the  aged  parents  of  the  farmer,  may 
be  seen  with  their  hoary  hairs,  seated  in  the  warm- 
est corner,  and  breathing  a  silent  blessing  on  their  de- 
scendants. Fruit  and  nuts  from  his  own  trees,  vary 
the  evening-banquet,  and  last  of  all,  from  the  family 


THE   FARMER.  153 

altar,  the  prayer  of  pious  gratitude  goes  up,  to  the 
Lord  of  the  harvest. 

From  such  households,  have  come  forth,  some  of 
the  most  illustrious  men,  who  have  adorned  the  his- 
tory of  our  country.  Wise  rulers,  eloquent  orators, 
— ornaments  of  the  learned  professions,  have  "been 
thus  nurtured.  They  have  acknowledged  that  the 
industry, — the  simplicity, — the  subordination  of  their 
early  years,  were  the  seeds  of  their  greatness. 

The  cultivation  of  land,  forms  a  delightful  re- 
creation, for  a  man  of  fortune,  and  of  accomplished 
mind.  It  is  connected  with  the  sciences,  with  in- 
tellectual and  philosophical  research.  The  gentle- 
men-farmers of  England,  are  among  the  best  edu- 
cated men  of  the  realm. 

Agriculture  as  a  profession,  is  dignified  and  deserv- 
ing of  respect.  Our  farmers,  are  our  true  nobility.  Let 
them  be  careful  to  enrich  their  minds  with  liberal 
knowledge — to  teach  their  children  not  to  be  ashamed 
of  honest  industry,  and  to  "  hold  fast  their  integrity," 
for  their  country's  sake. 

The  expanse  of  land  in  our  territory,  is  so  great, 
that  the  young  should  be  encouraged  to  engage  in 
its  cultivation.  We  ought  not  to  import  from  other 
countries,  those  articles  of  subsistence,  which  might 
better  be  raised  at  home. 

Why  should  wheat,  hay,  eggs,  and  similar  articles 
be  brought  us  from  European  countries,  of  narrow 
bound,  and  a  heavy  population,  and  our  own  rich 
vales  and  broad  prairies,  lie  waste  and  uncultivated  1 
"We  do  not  think  much  of  a  country  that  imports 
its  bread,"  said  some  wealthy  and  judicious  foreign- 


154  the  boy's  book. 

ers,  when  urged  to  invest  their  funds,  in  our  alluring 
speculations. 

Agriculture  should  be  fostered  by  public  opinion. 
It  has  been  the  choice  of  some  of  the  wisest,  most 
distinguished  men.  "Let  me  go  home,  to  plough 
and  plant  my  few  acres,"  said  Cincinnatus,  breaking 
away  from  all  the  allurements  of  power  and  splen- 
dour, with  which  the  Roman  people  surrounded  him. 

So,  our  own  Washington  retired  from  the  highest 
honours  that  a  grateful  country  could  bestow,  to  the 
cultivation  of  his  farm,  and  the  tranquil  shades  of 
Mount  Vernon.  It  was  he  who  admonished  the  peo- 
ple to  give  honour  to  men,  who,  with  their  hands, 
maintained  their  families,  and  brought  up  children 
in  honest  industry. 

His  knowledge  of  history,  as  well  as  his  observa- 
tion of  mankind,  taught  him  that  nations  which  de- 
spise the  simple  pursuits  of  agriculture,  and  rush 
onward  to  sudden  wealth  and  luxury,  degenerate 
and  decline. 

The  peaceful  occupation  of  the  farmer,  was 
praised  by  Socrates.  "Agriculture,  said  he,  is  an 
employment  the  most  worthy  the  attention  of  man, 
— the  most  ancient,  and  the  most  suitable  to  his  na- 
ture. It  is  the  common  nurse  of  all  persons,  of  every 
condition  in  life, — the  source  of  health,  strength 
plenty,  and  riches,  and  of  a  thousand  sober  delights, 
and  honest  pleasures." 

The  true  prosperity  of  a  nation,  is  not  so  much 
in  the  possessions,  or  the  number  of  its  subjects,  as 
in  their  habit  and  character.  Republics,  ought 
therefore,  to  strive  to  give  dignity  to  agriculture, 
since  more  than  any  other  form  of  government,  their 


THE  FARMER.  155 

existence  depends  on  the  virtue  and  intelligence  of 
the  people. 

It  has  been  well  said,  that  our  country  may  be 
compared  to  an  oak,  and  agriculture  to  the  roots 
which  provide  food  and  the  elements  of  wealth ; 
manufactures,  to  the  leaves  which  elaborate  and 
convert  to  useful  purposes,  what  the  roots  furnish : 
and  commerce,  to  the  branches,  or  channel  of  inter- 
course, between  the  roots  and  leaves. 

"Without  the  branches,  both  roots  and  leaves 
would  be  deprived  of  their  reciprocal  aids.  With- 
out the  leaves,  growth  must  cease.  Without  the 
root, — leaves,  branches,  and  trunk  must  perish.  Let 
us,  therefore,  cherish  and  protect  all ;  but  especially 
let  us  nurture  the  root,  as  the  primary  source  of  life 
and  growth,  vigour,  and  utility." 

A  statesman  and  philosopher  of  our  land,  has  as- 
serted, that  "  God  made  the  breast  of  those  who  labour 
in  the  earth,  his  peculiar  deposit  for  substantial  vir- 
tues. Corruption  of  morals,  in  a  mass  of  cultivators, 
is  a  phenomena  of  which  no  age  or  nation,  has  fur- 
nished an  example. 

"  This  is  a  mark  set  on  those,  who  not  looking  up 
to  Heaven,  for  its  blessing  on  their  own  toil  and  in- 
dustry, as  does  the  husbandman,  depend  for  it  on  the 
casualties  and  caprices  of  customers.  For  the  pro- 
portion which  the  aggregate  of  other  classes  of  citi- 
zens bears  in  any  state  to  that  of  its  husbandmen,  is 
the  proportion  of  its  unsound  to  its  healthy  parts." 

These  are  strong  words.  But  we  will  always  re- 
spect farmers.  We  consider  their  occupation,  not 
only  healthful  in  itself,  but  for  the  health  of  oui 
country.    And  should  she  ever  be  in  trouble,  we  be- 


156  the  boy's  book. 

lieve  that  there  will  come  forth  from  her  quiet  farm- 
houses, strength  to  defend  her  liberties,  and  virtue  to 
preserve  them. 


AGRICULTURE. 

Saw  you  the  farmer  at  his  plough, 

As  you  were  passing  by  ? 
Or  wearied  'neath  his  noon-day  toil 

When  summer  suns  were  high  1 

And  thought  you  that  his  lot  was  hard  % 
And  did  you  thank  your  God 

That  you  and  yours  were  not  condemn'd 
Thus  like  a  slave  to  plod ! 

Come,  see  him  at  his  harvest-home, 
When  garden,  field,  and  tree, 

Conspire,  with  flowing  stores  to  fill 
His  barn  and  granary. 

His  healthful  children  gaily  sport 

Amid  the  new-mown  hay, 
Or  gladly  aid,  with  vigorous  arm, 

His  task  as  best  they  may. 

The  dog  partakes  his  master's  joy, 

And  guards  the  loaded  wain, 
The  feathery  people  clap  their  wings, 

And  lead  their  youngling  train. 


BIRDS   IN  AUTUMN.  157 

Perchance,  the  hoary  grandsire's  eye, 

The  glowing  scene  surveys, 
And  breathes  a  blessing  on  his  race, 

Or  guides  their  evening  praise. 

The  Harvest-Giver  is  their  friend, 

The  Maker  of  the  soil, 
And  Earth,  the  Mother,  gives  them  bread, 

And  cheers  their  patient  toil. 

Come,  join  them  round  their  wintry  hearth, 

Their  heartfelt-pleasures  see, 
And  you  can  better  judge  how  blest. 

The  farmer's  life  may  be. 


BIRDS  IN  AUTUMN. 


November  came  on,  with  an  eye  severe, 

And  his  stormy  language,  was  hoarse  to  hear, 

And  the  glittering  garland,  of  brown  and  red, 

Which  he  wreath'd  for  awhile,  round  the  forest's  head, 

In  sudden  anger  he  rent  away, 

And  all  was  cheerless,  and  bare,  and  grey. 

Then  the  houseless  grasshopper  told  his  woes, 

And  the  humming-bird  sent  forth  a  wail  for  the  rose* 

And  the  spider,  that  weaver,  of  cunning  so  deep, 

Roll'd  himself  up,  in  a  ball,  to  sleep, 

And  the  cricket  his  merry  horn  laid  by, 

Or-.  th«  «helf  with  the  pipe  of  the  dragon-fly. 


158  the  boy's  book. 

Soon  voices  were  heard,  at  the  morning  prime, 

Consulting  of  flight,  to  a  warmer  clime, 

"Let  us  go  !  let  us  go !"  said  the  bright-wing  d  jay, 

And  his  grey  spouse  sang  from  a  rocking  spray 

"I  am  tir'd  to  death  of  this  hum-drum  tree, 

I'll  go,  if  'tis  only  this  world  to  see." 

"Will  you  go,"  ask'd  the  robin,  « my  only  love V* 

And  a  tender  strain  from  the  leafless  grove 

Responded,  "wherever  your  lot  is  cast, 

Mid  sunny  skies,  or  the  wintry  blast, 

I  am  still  at  your  side,  your  heart  to  cheer, 

Though  dear  is  our  nest,  in  this  thicket  here. 

« I  am  ready  to  go,  cried  the  plump  young  wren, 
From  the  hateful  homes  of  these  northern  men, 
My  throat  is  sore,  and  my  feet  are  blue, 
I  fear  I  have  caught  the  consumption  too, 
And  the  Oriole  told  with  a  flashing  eye, 
How  his  plumage  was  spoil'd  by  the  frosty  sky. 

Then  up  went  the  thrush,  with  a  trumpet-call,  [wall,] 
And  the  martins  came  forth  from  their  box  on  the 
And  the  owlets  peep'd  out  from  their  secret  bower, 
And  the  swallows  conven'd  on  the  old  church  tower, 
And  the  council  of  blackbirds  was  long  and  loud, 
Chattering  and  flying  from  tree  to  cloud. 

«The  dahlia  is  dead  on  her  throne,"  said  they, 
And  we  saw  the  butterfly,  cold  as  clay, 
Not  a  berry  is  found  on  the  russet  plains, 
Not  a  kernel  of  ripen'd  maize  remains, 
Every  worm  is  hid,  shall  we  longer  stay, 
To  be  wasted  with  famine,  away  !  away  !" 


BIRDS   IN  AUTUMN.  159 

But  what  a  strange  clamour  on  elm  and  oak, 
From  a  bevy  of  brown-coated  mocking-birds  broke ! 
The  theme  of  each  separate  speaker  they  told, 
In  a  shrill  report,  with  such  mimickry  bold, 
That  the  eloquent  orators  stared  to  hear, 
Their  own  true  echoes,  so  wild  and  clear. 

Then  tribe  after  tribe,  with  its  leader  fair, 
Swept  off,  through  the  fathomless  depth  of  air ; 
Who  maketh  their  course  to  the  tropics  bright  ] 
Who  nerveth  their  wing  for  its  weary  flight] 
Who  guideth  that  caravan's  trackless  way, 
By  the  stars  at  night,  and  the  cloud  by  day  1 

The  Indian  fig  with  its  arching  screen, 
Welcomes  them  in,  to  its  vistas  green 
And  the  breathing  buds  of  the  spicy  tree, 
Thrill  at  the  burst  of  their  revelry, 
And  the  bulbul  starts,  'mid  his  carol  clear, 
Such  a  rushing  of  stranger- wings  to  hear. 

O  wild-wood  wanderers  !  how  far  away 
From  your  rural  homes  in  our  vales  ye  stray ; 
But  when  they  are  wak'd  by  the  touch  of  Spring, 
We  shall  see  you  again  with  your  glancing  wing, 
Your  nests  'mid  our  household  trees  to  raise, 
And  stir  our  hearts  in  our  Maker's  praise. 


THE  INDIAN  KING. 


Among  the  early  settlers  of  these  United  States, 
were  some  pious  people,  called  Huguenots,  who  fled 
from  the  persecutions  in  France,  under  Louis  the 


160  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

Fourteenth.  It  has  been  said,  that  wherever  the  ele- 
ments of  their  character,  mingled  with  this  New 
World,  the  infusion  was  salutary. 

Industry,  patience,  sweet  social  affections,  and 
piety,  firm,  but  not  austere,  werethe  distinctive  fea- 
tures of  this  interesting  race.  A  considerable  num- 
ber of  them,  chose  their  abode  in  a  part  of  the 
State  of  Massachusetts,  about  the  year  1686,  and 
commenced  the  labours  inseparable  from  the  for- 
mation of  a  new  colony. 

In  their  vicinity,  was  a  powerful  tribe  of  Indians, 
whom  they  strove  to  conciliate.  They  extended  to 
them  the  simple  rites  of  hospitality,  and  their  kind 
and  gentle  manners,  wrought  happily  upon  the 
proud,  yet  susceptible  nature  of  the  aborigines. 

But  their  settlement  had  not  long  assumed  the 
marks  of  regularity  and  beauty,  ere  they  observed 
in  their  savage  neighbours,  a  reserved  deportment. 
This  increased,  until  the  son  of  the  forest,  utterly 
avoided  the  dwellings  of  the  new  comers,  where  he 
had  been  pleased  to  accept  a  shelter  for  the  night,  or 
a  covert  for  the  storm. 

Occasionally,  some  lingering  one,  might  be  seen 
near  the  cultivated  grounds,  regarding  the  more 
skilful  agriculture  of  the  white  inhabitants,  with  a 
dejected  and  lowering  brow.  It  was  rumoured  that 
these  symptoms  of  disaffection  arose  from  the  influ- 
ence of  an  aged  chief,  whom  they  considered  a 
prophet,  who  denounced  the  "  pale  intruders  ;"  and 
they  grieved  that  thej'-  should  not  have  been  more 
successful  in  conciliating  their  red  brethren. 

Three  years  had  elapsed  since  the  establishment 
of  their  little  colony.    Autumn  was  now  advancing 


THE   INDIAN   KING.  161 

towards  its  close,  and  copse  and  forest  exhibited 
those  varied  and  opposing  hues,  which  clothe  in 
beauty  and  brilliance,  the  foliage  of  New  England. 
The  harvest  was  gathered  in,  and  every  family  made 
preparation  for  the  approach  of  winter. 

Here  and  there,  groups  of  children  might  be  seen, 
bearing  homeward,  baskets  of  nuts,  which  they  had 
gathered  in  the  thicket,  or  forest,  It  was  pleasant 
to  hear  their  joyous  voices,  and  see  their  ruddy  faces, 
like  bright  flowers,  amid  wilds  so  lately  tenanted  by 
the  prowling  wolf,  the  fierce  panther,  and  the  sable 
bear. 

In  one  of  these  nut-gatherings,  a  little  boy  and 
girl,  of  eight  and  four  years  old,  the  only  children 
of  a  settler,  whose  wife  had  died  on  the  voyage 
hither,  accidentally  separated  from  their  companions. 
They  had  discovered  on  their  way  home,  profuse 
clusters  of  the  purple  frost-grape,  and  entering  a 
rocky  recess  to  gain  the  new  treasure,  did  not  per- 
ceive that  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  fading 
away. 

Suddenly,  they  were  seized  by  two  Indians.  The 
boy  struggled  violently,  and  his  little  sister  cried  to 
him  for  protection,  but  in  vain.  The  long  strides  of 
their  captors,  soon  bore  them  far  beyond  the  bounds 
of  the  settlement.  Night  was  far  advanced,  ere 
they  halted.  Then  they  kindled  a  fire,  and  offered 
the  children  some  food. 

The  heart  of  the  boy  swelled  high  with  grief  and 
anger,  and  he  refused  to  partake.  But  the  poor  little 
girl,  took  some  parched  corn  from  the  hand  of  the 
Indian,  who  held  her  on  his  knee.  He  smiled  as  he 
saw  her  eat  the  kernels,  and  look   up  in  his  face 


162 

with  a  wondering,  yet  reproachless  eye.  Then  they 
lay  down  to  sleep  in  the  dark  forest,  each  with  an 
arm  over  his  captive. 

Great  was  the  alarm  in  the  colony,  when  those 
children  returned  not.  Every  spot  was  searched, 
where  it  was  thought  possible  they  might  have  lost 
their  way.  But  when  at  length,  their  little  baskets 
were  found,  over-turned  in  a  tangled  thicket,  one 
terrible  conclusion  burst  upon  every  mind,  that  they 
must  have  been  captured  by  Indians. 

It  was  decided,  that  ere  any  warlike  measures 
were  adopted,  the  father  should  go  peacefully  to  the 
Indian  king,  and  demand  his  children.  At  the  ear- 
liest dawn  of  morning,  he  departed  with  his  com- 
panions. They  met  a  friendly  Indian,  pursuing  the 
chase,  who  had  occasionally  shared  their  hospitality 
and  consented  to  be  their  guide. 

They  travelled  through  rude  paths,  until  the  day 
drew  near  a  close.  Then,  approaching  a  circle  of 
native  dwellings,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  a  tent, 
they  saw  a  man  of  lofty  form,  with  a  coronet  of 
feathers  upon  his  brow,  and  surrounded  by  warriors. 
The  guide  saluted  him  as  his  monarch,  and  the  be- 
reaved father,  bowing  down,  addressed  him. 

"  King  of  the  red  men,  thou  seest  a  father  in  pur- 
suit of  his  lost  babes.  He  has  heard  that  your  peo- 
ple will  not  harm  the  stranger  in  distress.  So  he 
trusts  himself  fearlessly  among  you.  The  king  of 
our  own  native  land,  who  should  have  protected  us, 
became  our  foe.  We  fled  from  our  dear  homes,  from 
the  graves  of  our  fathers. 

"  The  ocean-wave  brought  us  to  this  New  World. 
We  are  a  peaceful  race,  pure  from  the  blood  of  all 


THE  INDIAN   KING.  163 

men.  We  seek  to  take  the  hand  of  our  red  brethren. 
Of  my  own  kindred,  none  inhabit  this  wilderness 
save  two  little  buds  from  a  broken,  buried  stem. 

"  Last  night,  sorrow  entered  into  my  soul,  because 
I  found  them  not.  Knowest  thou,  O  King,  if  thy 
people  have  taken  my  babes  ]  Knowest  thou  where 
they  have  concealed  them  ]  Cause  them,  I  pray  thee, 
to  be  restored  to  my  arms.  So  shall  the  Great  Spirit 
bless  thine  own  tender  plants,  and  lift  up  thy  heart, 
when  it  weigheth  heavily  in  thy  bosom." 

The  Indian  monarch,  bending  on  him  a  piercing 
glance,  said,  "  Knowest  thou  me  1  Look  in  my  eyes  I 
Look!  Answer  me  !  Are  they  those  of  a  stranger!" 
The  Huguenot  replied  that  he  had  no  recollection  of 
having  ever  before  seen  his  countenance. 

"Thus  it  is  with  the  white  man.  He  is  dim-eyed. 
He  looketh  on  the  garments,  more  than  on  the  soul. 
Where  your  ploughs  wound  the  earth,  oft  have  I 
stood,  watching  your  toil.  There  was  no  coronet  on 
my  brow.    But  I  was  a  king.    And  you  knew  it  not. 

"  I  looked  upon  your  people.  I  saw  neither  pride, 
nor  violence.  I  went  an  enemy,  but  returned  a 
friend.  T  said  to  my  warriors,  do  these  men  no  harm. 
They  do  not  hate  Indians.  Then  our  white-haired 
Prophet  of  the  Great  Spirit  rebuked  me.  He  bade 
me  make  no  league  with  the  pale  faces,  lest  angry 
words  should  be  spoken  of  me,  among  the  shades  of 
our  buried  kings. 

"  Yet  again  I  went  where  thy  brethren  have  rear- 
ed their  dwellings.  Yes,  I  entered  thy  house.  And 
thou  knowest  not  this  brow  ?  I  could  tell  thine  at  mid- 
night, if  but  a  single  star  trembled  through  the  clouds. 


164  the  boy's  book. 

My  ear  would  know  thy  voice,  though  the  storm 
were  abroad  with  all  its  thunders. 

"I  have  said  that  I  was  a  king.  Yet  I  came  to 
thee  an  hungered.  And  thou  gavest  me  bread.  My 
head  was  wet  with  the  tempest.  Thou  badest  me  to 
lie  down  on  thy  hearth,  and  thy  son  for  whom  thou 
mournest,  covered  me. 

"I  was  sad  in  spirit.  And  thy  little  daughter, 
whom  thou  seekest  with  tears,  sat  on  my  knee.  She 
smiled  when  I  told  her  how  the  beaver  buildeth  his 
house  in  the  forest.  My  heart  was  comforted,  for  I 
saw  that  she  did  not  hate  Indians. 

"Turn  not  on  me  such  a  terrible  eye.  I  am  no 
stealer  of  babes.  I  have  reproved  the  people  who 
took  the  children.  I  have  sheltered  them  for  thee. 
Not  a  hair  of  their  heads  is  hurt.  Thinkest  thou 
that  the  red  man  can  forget  kindness]  They  are 
sleeping  in  my  tent.  Had  I  but  a  single  blanket,  it 
should  have  been  their  bed.  Take  them,  and  return 
unto  thy  people." 

He  waved  his  hand  to  an  attendant,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment, the  two  children  were  in  the  arms  of  their  fa- 
ther. The  white  men  were  hospitably  sheltered  for 
that  night,  and  the  twilight  of  the  next  day,  bore 
upward  from  the  rejoicing  colony,  a  prayer  for  the 
heathen  of  the  forest,  and  that  pure  praise  which 
mingles  with  the  music  around  the  Throne. 


THE  PRAYER   ON    BUNKER'S   HILL.  165 


THE  PRAYER  ON  BUNKER'S  HILL. 

It  was  an  hour  of  fear  and  dread, 

High  rose  the  battle  cry, 
And  round  in  heavy  volumes  spread 

The  war-cloud  to  the  sky. 

'Twas  not,  as  when  in  rival  strength, 

Contending  nations  meet, 
Or  love  of  conquest  madly  hurls 

A  monarch  from  his  seat. 

But  many  a  warm  cemented  tie, 

Was  riven  in  anguish  wild, 
Ere  with  a  foe-man's  vengeful  eye 

The  parent  met  the  child. 

O'er  the  green  hill's  beleagurM  breast, 

Swept  on  the  conflict  high, 
And  many  a  gallant  leader  prest 

The  trampled  turf  to  die. 

Yet  one  was  there  unus'd  to  tread, 

The  path  of  mortal  strife, 
Who  but  the  Saviour's  flock  had  led 

Beside  the  fount  of  life. 

He  knelt  him  where  the  black  smoke  wreath/ d 

His  head  was  bow'd  and  bare, 
While  for  an  infant  land,  he  breath'd 

The  agony  of  prayer. 

The  shafts  of  death  flew  thick  and  fast, 

'Mid  shrieks  of  ire  and  pain, 
Wide  wav'd  his  white  locks  on  the  blast, 

And  round  him  fell  the  slain. 


166  the  boy's  book. 

Yet.  still  with  fervency  intense 
He  prest  the  endanger'd  spot, 

The  selfish  thought,  the  shrinking  sense 
O'ermaster'd,  and  forgot. 

'Twould  seem  as  if  a  marble  form 
Wrought  in  some  quarried  height, 

Stood  fix'd  amid  that  battle  storm, 
Save  that  the  eye  was  bright. 

Save  that  the  deeply-heaving  breast, 

The  hand  uprais'd  in  air, 
The  smile,  yet  moving  lips,  exprest 

That  strong  life  wrestled  there. 

Then  loud  upon  their  native  soil, 
Peal'd  forth  their  victor's  cry, 

And  thinn'd  beneath  the  desperate  toil, 
The  wearied  host  swept  by. 

But  'mid  that  strange  and  fierce  delight, 

A  chief  of  other  days, 
Gave  up  your  falchions  broad  and  bright, 

Your  own  light  arms  the  praise. 

Or  thought  ye  still  how  many  a  prayer, 

Amid  the  deathful  fray, 
From  cottage  homes,  and  heads  of  care, 

Rose  up  for  you  that  day] 

The  column  red  with  early  morn, 
May  tower  o'er  Bunker's  height, 

And  proudly  till  a  race  unborn 
Their  patriot  father's  might. 


167 


But  thou,  Oh  patriot,  old  and  grey, 
Thou  prophet  of  the  free,* 

Who  knelt  amid  the  dead,  that  day, 
What  fame  shall  rise  to  thee  1 

It  is  not  meet  that  brass  or  stone, 
Which  feel  the  touch  of  time, 

Should  keep  the  record  of  a  faith 
That  woke  thy  deed  sublime. 

We  trace  it  on  a  tablet  fair 

Which  glows  when  stars  wax  pale, 
A  promise  that  the  good  man's  prayer 

Shall  with  his  God  prevail. 


JOTHAM'S  PARABLE. 


The  trees  of  Israel  once  conven'd 

In  conclave,  strange  and  bold, 
To  choose  a  ruler,  though  the  Lord 

Had  been  their  king  of  old. 
And  first,  the  homage  of  their  vow 

They  to  the  Olive  paid, 
But  she  the  flattering  suit  repelFd, 

And  lov'd  the  peaceful  glade. 

*  During  the  battle  of  Bunker's  Hill,  a  venerable  clergy- 
man of  Massachusetts,  knelt  on  the  field,  with  hands  upraised, 
and  grey  head  uncovered,  and  while  the  bullets  whistled 
around  him,  prayed  for  the  success  of  his  people. 


168  the  boy's  book. 

Next,  to  the  fruitful  Fig  they  turn'd, 

On  Shechem's  shadowy  height, 
And  spread  the  gilded  lures  of  power 

Before  her  dazzled  sight ; 
But  shivering  low,  in  every  leaf, 

As  the  light  breeze  swept  by, 
Ambition's  sinful  thought  she  spurn'd, 

And  rais'd  to  Heaven  her  eye. 

So  then  the  lowly  vine  they  sought, 

That  round  her  trellis  bound, 
In  sweet  contentment  humbly  dwelt, 

Belov'd  by  all  around  ; 
Yet,  hiding  'neath  her  clusters  broad, 

With  unobtrusive  smile, 
And  clinging  closer  to  her  prop, 

She  'scap'd  th'  insidious  wile. 

Then  up  the  thorny  Bramble  spake 

To  every  lofty  tree, — 
"  Come,  put  your  trust  beneath  my  shade, 

And  I'll  your  ruler  be." 
"  The  Bramble-shade  !  the  Bramble-shade  ! 

Have  you  forgot  the  day 
When  Midian's  old  oppressive  yoke 

Was  nobly  rent  away. 

"  My  glorious  sire ! — Have  ye  forgot 
How  in  God's  strength  he  rose  ? 

And  took  his  dear  life  in  his  hand, 
And  triumph'd  o'er  your  foes  ? 


j'otham's  parable.  169 

So  now,  if  with  my  father's  house, 

Ye  have  dealt  well  and  true, 
Rejoice  ye  in  your  new-made  lord, 

While  he  exults  in  you. 

"  But,  if  my  slaughter'd  brethren's  blood 

Still  from  the  dust  doth  cry, 
And  echo  in  that  Judge's  ear, 

Who  rules  both  earth  and  sky, 
Then  from  the  bramble,  where  ye  trust, 

Break  forth,  at  midnight  hour, 
The  o'erwhelming  and  vindictive  flame, 

And  all  your  host  devour." 

That  voice  the  ingrate  people  heard 

With  deep  remorse  and  dread, 
And  deem'd  some  spirit,  strong  in  wrath, 

Had  risen  from  the  dead  ; 
For  there,  on  Gerizzim,  he  stood, 

Amid  its  cedars  bright, 
And  frown'd  one  moment  on  the  throng, 

They  vanish'd  from  their  sight. 

But  fearful  was  their  fiery  doom 

On  Shechem's  leaguer'd  tower, 
When  fierce  Abimelech  arose, 

With  war's  disastrous  power. 
Each  soldier  bore  a  sever'd  bough, 

And  rear'd  a  mighty  pile, 
From  whence  the  wild,  unpitying  flame 

Consum'd  the  men  of  guile. 
15 


170  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

And  on  that  tyrant's  head  there  fell 

A  weight  of  wrath  and  pain, — 
Dire  judgment  for  usurping  guilt, 

And  for  his  brethren  slain. 
The  mill-stone,  by  a  woman  thrown, — 

A  servant's  deadly  thrust, — 
Aveng'd  the  usurper's  ruthless  deed, 

And  crush'd  him  to  the  dust. 


DR.  HERMAN  BOERHAAVE. 

Herman  Boerhaave,  was  one  of  the  best  men, 
and  most  illustrious  physicians.  He  was  the  son  of 
a  clergyman,  and  born  at  a  small  village  in  Holland, 
on  the  last  day  of  the  year  1668.  Love  of  study 
marked  his  childhood,  and,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  he 
was  sent  to  the  public  school  at  Leyden. 

His  proficiency,  while  at  school,  was  so  great, 
that  in  less  than  a  year  after  he  became  a  member, 
he  was  advanced  with  honour,  to  the  highest  class, 
which  is  allowed  after  six  months  preparation,  to 
enter  the  University.  But  scarcely  was  he  admitted 
there,  before  a  dark  shade  was  cast  over  his  pros- 
pects, by  the  death  of  his  father,  who  left  a  numer- 
ous family,  in  reduced  circumstances. 

Still,  his  efforts  to  obtain  an  education,  were  not 
checked  by  sorrow,  and  he  expressed  his  trust  in  the 
guidance  and  support  of  that  Father  who  never  dies. 
His  desire  was  to  become  a  clergyman,  and  after 
laying  a  solid  foundation  in  the  sciences,  he  com- 


DR.   HERMAN   BOERHAAVE.  171 

menced  the  study  of  the  Hebrew  language,  and  of 
theology. 

The  necessity  of  doing  something  for  his  imme- 
diate support,  induced  him  to  resign  the  pursuits 
that  were  most  congenial  to  his  taste,  and  devote 
himself  to  the  science  of  medicine.  After  leaving 
the  university,  he  suffered  much  from  poverty,  and 
while  pursuing  a  wide  range  of  the  studies  of  na- 
ture, to  aid  him  in  his  future  profession,  was  obliged 
to  supply  himself  with  the  necessaries  of  life,  by 
teaching  mathematics. 

But  afterwards,  when  he  became  known  as  a  phy- 
sician, wealth  flowed  in  upon  him,  like  a  flood,  so 
that  at  the  time  of  his  death,  he  left  a  fortune  of 
several  hundred  thousand  dollars,  as  a  proof  of 
what  honest  and  well-directed  industry,  might  per- 
form. Yet  he  was  far  from  being  exorbitant  in  his 
charges,  or  arrogant  of  his  skill,  though  he  had  been 
blest  as  the  instrument  of  healing,  in  many  difficult 
and  almost  helpless  cases. 

His  feeling  and  benevolent  heart,  led  him  to  visit 
and  prescribe  for  those  who  were  too  poor  to  com- 
pensate him.  "  These,  said  he,  are  my  best  patients. 
God  is  their  paymaster."  He  was  diligent,  both 
night  and  day,  to  relieve  suffering,  and  his  kind,  and 
sympathetic  feelings,  so  beamed  forth  in  his  coun- 
tenance, that  he  approached  the  couch  of  the  sick, 
like  a  beneficent  spirit. 

Reputation  and  honour,  were  the  rewards  of  his 
knowledge  and  goodness.  He  was  appointed  Pro- 
fessor of  Chemistry,  Professor  of  Botany,  and  Pro- 
fessor of  Medicine,  in  the  University  of  Leyden. 
The  Royal  Society  of  London,  and  the  Academy  of 


172  the  boy's  book. 

Sciences  at  Paris,  elected  him  an  honorary  mem- 
ber, and  distant  princes  confided  pupils  to  his  care. 

When  Peter  the  Great,  was  in  Holland,  in  1715,  he 
attended  the  lectures  of  Boerhaave,  and  received 
lessons  from  him,  as  a  scholar.  Nor  was  his  fame 
confined  to  Europe.  It  spread  far  among  the  eastern 
nations.  A  letter  from  a  mandarin  in  China,  direct- 
ed to  the  "illustrious  Boerhaave,  physician  in  Eu- 
rope," came  to  him,  without  mistake  or  delay. 

Amid  all  these  distinctions,  which  would  have 
elated  a  weak  or  vain  mind,  he  was  humble,  and  full 
of  those  amiable  qualities,  which  endeared  him  to 
society,  and  to  the  domestic  circle.  At  the  age  of 
forty-two,  he  married  the  daughter  of  the  burgomas- 
ter of  Leyden,  and,  notwithstanding  his  household 
and  professional  avocations,  found  time  for  the 
composition  of  several  literary  works. 

He  was  an  eloquent  orator,  and  spoke  with  such 
dignity  and  grace,  that  his  auditors  regretted  when 
his  lectures  closed.  He  taught  methodically,  and 
with  great  precision.  His  pupils  found  him  not  only 
a  skilful  professor,  and  an  indefatigable  instructor, 
but  a  tender  friend,  encouraging  their  exertions,  con- 
soling them  under  afflictions,  and  when  necessary, 
relieving  their  pecuniary  necessities. 

He  was  a  declared  foe  to  all  extravagance  and  ex- 
cess, yet  cheerful,  and  desirous  of  promoting  the 
true  happiness  of  the  young.  He  was  zealous  for 
the  truth,  but  dispassionate ;  constant  and  affection- 
ate in  friendship  ;  in  every  relation  of  life,  virtuous 
and  exemplary.  Yet  the  high  esteem  which  he  en- 
joyed, and  his  real  excellence,  did  not  save  him  from 
calumny  and  detraction. 


DR.   HERMAN  BOERHAAVE-  173 

He  was  not  angry  at  his  enemies,  and  paid  little 
attention  to  their  unkindness.  "  The  surest  remedy 
against  scandal,  he  would  say,  is  to  live  it  down,  by 
perseverance  in  well-doing,  and  by  prayer  to  God 
to  cure  the  distempered  minds  of  those  who  traduce 
and  injure  us." 

To  a  friend  who  admired  his  patience  under  great 
provocations,  and  asked  by  what  means  he  had  ac- 
quired such  entire  self-control,  he  replied  with  great 
frankness,  that  by  nature  he  was  inclined  to  resent- 
ment, but  that  by  daily  prayer  and  meditation,  he 
had  obtained  the  command  of  his  passions. 

He  was  temperate  in  his  mode  of  life,  and  recom- 
mended temperance  to  others.  The  continual  ac- 
tivity of  his  mind,  sparkled  in  his  eyes.  His  manners 
were  unassuming, — his  whole  appearance  simple, 
and  when  age  and  deep  study  changed  the  colour  of 
his  hair,  he  was  remarkable  for  that  beautiful  and 
venerable  aspect  which  creates  respect,  and  concili- 
ates affection. 

Piety,  and  a  deep  sense  of  dependence  on  God, 
formed  the  basis  of  his  virtues.  Fully  sensible  of 
the  infirmity  of  human  nature,  he  arrogated  no 
merit  to  himself.  When  he  received  praise  for  be- 
nevolence, or  wisdom,  he  ascribed  it  to  the  Great 
Author  of  every  "good  and  perfect  gift."  So  pro- 
found was  his  humility,  that  when  he  heard  of  any 
condemned  criminal,  he  would  say,  "  Who  knows 
whether  he  is  not  better  than  1 1  Or  if  I  have  es- 
caped his  sins,  I  owe  it  to  Divine  Goodness." 

He  was  an  early  riser ;  and  it  was  always  his  habit 
as  soon  as  he  had  dressed,  to  retire  an  hour  for  de- 
votion, and  the  study  of  the  Bible.    When  his  friends 
15* 


174  the  boy's  book. 

expressed  surprise  at  the  fatigue  he  was  able  to  en- 
dure in  his  profession,  he  said,  "  my  morning  hour 
of  prayer  and  meditation,  gives  me  spirit  and  vigour, 
for  the  toils  or  trials  of  the  day." 

The  practice  from  which  he  derived  such  benefit, 
he  urged  others,  especially  the  young,  to  adopt. 
"  Nothing,  said  he,  more  conduces  to  health  of  body, 
or  tranquillity  of  mind.  Indeed,  I  know  of  nothing, 
which  is  able  to  support  me,  and  my  fellow-creatures, 
under  the  various  distresses  of  life,  but  a  well-ground- 
ed confidence  in  a  Supreme  Being,  resting  on  the 
principles  of  Christianity." 

Feeling  that  a  religious  physician  has  it  in  his 
power  to  do  good  to  the  soul  as  well  as  the  body,  he 
made  the  excellence  of  the  Christian  religion,  a  fre- 
quent theme  of  discourse,  and  on  every  proper  oc- 
casion, asserted  the  divine  origin  of  the  Scriptures,  and 
their  efficacy  in  making  men  "  wise  unto  salvation." 

He  constantly  and  feelingly  affirmed,  that  a  strict 
obedience  to  the  doctrines,  and  a  diligent  imitation 
of  the  examples  of  our  blessed  Saviour,  was  the 
foundation  of  true  happiness.  He  asserted,  that 
submission  to  the  will  of  God,  without  repining,  or 
searching  after  hidden  reasons,  was  the  duty  of  a 
Christian. 

His  last  illness,  was  lingering  and  painful.  But 
his  fortitude  and  patience,  never  forsook  him.  He 
intermitted  neither  the  necessary  care  of  life,  nor 
the  serious  preparation  for  its  close.  The  piety 
which  he  had  cherished  from  early  years,  was  a 
fountain  of  joy  and  hope,  when  about  to  take  his  de- 
parture from  all  <^_rthly  things. 

A  short  time  L;  fore  his  dissolution,  he  received  a 


EVENING   THOUGHT.  175 

visit  from  an  excellent  clergyman,  and  after  joining 
with  him  in  fervent  prayer,  spoke  in  a  most  interest- 
ing manner,  of  the  nature  of  the  soul.  He  remarked, 
that  the  infirmities  of  his  body,  had  no  power  over  the 
mind, — that  the  strongest  pains  neither  oppressed, 
nor  vanquished  it.  Hence  he  drew  an  affecting 
proof  of  its  immortality. 

He  asserted,  that  amid  the  keenest  sufferings  which 
had  been  appointed  him,  his  soul  had  been  always 
master  of  itself,  always  resigned  to  the  pleasure  of 
its  Maker.  Confirming  in  sickness,  what  he  had  as- 
serted in  health,  he  added,  "he  who  loves  God,  ought 
to  think  nothing  desirable,  but  what  is  most  pleasing 
to  the  Supreme  Goodness." 

As  death  approached,  his  cheerful  trust  seemed  to 
increase,  and  his  spirit  to  rise  still  more,  above  the 
influence  of  pain.  He  died  on  the  25th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1738,  in  the  seventieth  year  of  his  age,  honour- 
ed and  lamented.  His  works  were  afterwards  pub- 
lished in  five  large  quarto  volumes,  and  the  city  of 
Leyden  erected  a  monument  to  his  memory,  bearing 
his  own  favourite,  and  characteristic  motto,  "  Truth 
unarrayed" 


EVENING  THOUGHT. 

Written  while  at  school,  at  a  distance  from  home. 

Wintry  tempest,  wild  and  loud, 
Scattering  snow-wreaths  from  the  cloud, 
Through  my  sleeted  pane,  I  see 
Many  a  drift  uprear'd  by  thee, 


176 


THE  BOY  S   BOOK. 


Where  the  traveller's  foot  may  fail, 
As  he  breasts  the  northern  gale. 

Yet  stay,  thou  rude  and  sweeping  blast, 
That  o'er  my  native  rocks  hast  past, 
And  tell  me  if  my  parents  dear 
Listen'd  like  me, — thy  voice  to  hear. 
Oh  tell  me  if  their  eve  was  spent 
In  comfort,  and  in  calm  content, 
If  glow'd  their  eye  with  gladness  mild, 
Or  spoke  they  of  their  absent  child. 

Thou  wilt  not  for  my  question  stay, 
Thou  dost  not  know,  or  canst  not  say. 
But  speed'st  unpitying,  on  thy  path, 
In  cold  contempt,  and  headlong  wrath, 
Yet  is  the  fate  of  those  I  love 
Dear  to  the  Power  who  rules  above. 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

'Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  his." 
Num.  xxiii.  10. 

I  look'd  upon  the  righteous  man, 

And  saw  his  parting  breath, 
Without  a  struggle  or  a  sigh 

Yield  peacefully  to  Death, 
There  was  no  anguish  on  his  brow, 

No  terror  in  his  eye, 
The  Spoiler  launch'd  a  fatal  dart, 

But  lost  the  victory. 


DR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  177 

I  look'd  upon  the  righteous  man, 

And  heard  the  holy  prayer 
Which  rose  above  that  breathless  clay 

To  soothe  the  mourner's  care, 
And  felt  how  precious  was  the  gift, 

He  to  his  dear  ones  gave, 
The  stainless  memory  of  the  just, 

The  wealth  beyond  the  grave. 

I  look'd  upon  the  righteous  man, 

And  all  our  earthly  trust, 
Its  pleasure — vanity,  and  pride, 

Seem'd  lighter  than  the  dust, 
Compar'd  with  his  eternal  gain, 

A  home  above  the  sky ! — 
O  grant  us,  Lord,  his  life  to  live, 

That  we  his  death  may  die. 


DR.  BENJAMIN  FRANKIJN. 

Benjamin  Franklin,  was  the  youngest  son  of  a 
family  of  seventeen  children,  and  born  in  Boston, 
Massachusetts,  January  17th,  1706.  His  parents 
desired  to  give  him  a  good  education,  and  at  the  age  of 
eight  years,  placed  him  at  school,  where  by  his 
veadiness  to  learn,  he  soon  reached  the  head  of  his 
class,  and  bade  fair  to  become  a  distinguished 
scholar. 

But  his  father  being  obliged  to  labour  for  the  sup- 
port of  a  numerous  family,  found  himself  unable  to 


178  the  boy's  book. 

bear  the  expenses  of  continuing  him  at  school,  and 
took  him  at  ten  years  of  age,  to  assist  in  his  own 
trade  of  a  tallow-chandler.  While  he  was  indus- 
triously employed  in  the  work  of  the  shop,  his  mind 
was  meditating  upon  the  books  he  had  perused,  and 
devising  how  to  get  time  to  read  others. 

Among  the  very  few  volumes  which  his  father 
possessed,  was  an  old,  worn  copy  of  Cotton  Mather's 
"Essays  to  do  Good."  This  he  read  and  pondered, 
until  its  contents  were  impressed  upon  his  memory. 
It  so  strongly  influenced  his  character,  that,  in  later 
years,  when  he  had  become  distinguished  by  deeds 
of  philanthropy,  he  said  the  foundation  was  laid  in 
his  mind,  by  the  perusal  of  that  book. 

All  the  little  money  that  he  was  able  to  obtain,  he 
laid  by,  for  the  purchase  of  books.  The  first  that 
he  was  able  to  buy,  were  the  works  of  John  Bunyan. 
His  strong  taste  for  reading,  determined  his  father  to 
hind  him  apprentice  to  an  elder  brother,  who  was  a 
printer.  He  was  then  eleven  years  old,  and  being 
active  and  diligent,  made  himself  very  useful  in  the 
business. 

He  was  much  happier  in  his  new  trade,  because 
he  had  better  opportunities  to  borrow  useful  books. 
These,  he  was  careful  to  keep  perfectly  clean,  and 
return  in  a  short  time,  though  he  frequently  had  to 
borrow  some  hours  from  sleep,  in  order  to  read  them. 
He  soon  began  to  write  his  thoughts,  sometimes  in 
poetry,  and  sometimes  in  prose. 

His  father  praised  him  for  the  correctness  of  his 
spelling  and  punctuation,  but  told  him  his  sentences 
were  rough  and  unpolished,  and  recommended  to 
him  to  study  the  writings  of  Addison.    By  a  careful 


DR.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN.  179 

perusal  of  the  "best  authors,  he  soon  became  sensi- 
ble of  the  force  and  beauty  of  a  simple  and  grace- 
ful style. 

The  brother,  whose  apprentice  he  was,  commenced 
in  1720,  the  second  newspaper,  which  had  ever  ap- 
peared in  America.  Benjamin  was  very  busy,  in 
setting  the  types,  printing  the  sheets,  and  carrying 
the  papers  to  subscribers.  Here  he  also  inserted 
some  of  his  own  compositions,  keeping  the  circum- 
stance a  strict  secret. 

He  was  gratified  to  hear  people  who  visited  the 
printing-office,  speak  in  praise  of  the  articles  which 
he  had  written,  and  impute  them  to  gentlemen  of 
talents  and  learning  ; — little  thinking  that  the  prin- 
ter's boy,  so  busy  at  the  press,  was  their  author. 
He  used  sometimes  to  engage  in  the  discussion  of 
important  subjects,  with  a  companion,  who  seemed 
to  partake  of  his  desire  for  improvement. 

He  discovered,  that  in  argument  it  was  best  to  be 
candid  and  open  to  conviction.  "  If  you  desire  im- 
provement from  others,  he  said,  do  not  express  your- 
self fixed  in  your  own  present  opinions.  Those  who 
are  modest  and  sensible,  do  not  love  to  dispute,  and 
will  leave  you  undisturbed  in  the  possession  of  your 
errors.  By  a  positive  and  dogmatical  manner,  you 
can  seldom  expect  to  please  your  hearers,  or  obtain 
the  concurrence  you  desire." 

At  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  read  a  treatise  on  vege- 
table diet,  which  pleased  him  so  much,  that  he  long 
abstained  from  animal  food.  He  found  that  neither 
his  strength,  nor  his  spirits  suffered,  but  at  his 
"boarding-house,  they  complained  of  the  trouble  of 
preparing  extra  dishes.    So  he  proposed  that  his 


180 

"brother  should  allow  him  half  the  sum,  which  lie 
paid  weekly  for  his  board,  promising  to  furnish  with 
it  his  own  provisions. 

He  found  it  easy,  not  only  to  keep  his  word,  but 
to  save  from  the  allowance,  a  small  fund  for  the 
purchase  of  books.    It  also  aided  him  in  another 
favourite  object,  the  economy  of  time.    While  his 
"brother  with  the  apprentices,  were  gone  to  their 
meals,  he  was  left  alone  in  the  printing-office,  and 
soon  despatching  his  slight  repast,  of  a  biscuit,  or  a 
slice  of  bread,  with  a  glass  of  water,  and  perhaps  a 
few  raisins,  he  secured  a  precious  interval  for  study. 
Not  meeting  from  his  brother  any  assistance,  in 
his  pursuit  of  improvement,  and  finding  him  neither 
as  kind  or  as  liberal  as  he  had  reason  to  expect,  he 
left  him,  and  went  to  New  York,  and  Philadelphia, 
in  search  of  employment  at  his  trade.    He  was  in- 
duced in  1724,  to  go  to  England,  where  he  remained 
j  a  year  and  a  half,  working  as  a  journeyman-printer, 
!  and  gaining  a  thorough  knowledge  of  his  profession. 
1 3    At  his  return  to  his  native  country,  he  took  up 
his  residence  in  Philadelphia.    He  was  very  diligent 
in  his  business,  and  when  he  became  able,  under- 
took the  printing  of  a  newspaper.    He  dressed  plain- 
ly, and  frequented  no  places  of  amusement.    Per- 
ceiving that  there  was  too  often  a  false  pride  about 
f  those  who  obtained  their  living  by  mechanical  em- 
I  ployment,  he  took  care  to  be  frequently  seen,  bring- 
(  ing  in  a  wheelbarrow,  through  the  streets,  the  paper 
"which  he  purchased  for  his  printing-office. 
\    Not  content  with  his  own  improvement,  he  formed 
a  society,  for  discussion,  and  writing,  on  subjects  of 
importance.    Each  member  was  to  deposit  a  few 


DR.   BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN.  181 

volumes  in  the  room,  where  they  held  their  weekly 
meetings.  This  library  proved  so  useful,  that  he 
was  induced  to  found  a  larger  one,  where  fifty  sub- 
scribers paid  an  annual  sum  for  the  purchase  of 
books.  Thus  the  first  public  library  in  Philadelphia, 
was  founded  by  one,  who  had  so  recently  been  ail 
obscure  printer's  boy. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-four,  he  married  Mrs.  Rogers, 
formerly  Miss  Read,  to  whom  he  became  attached, 
when  he  first  arrived  in  Philadelphia,  and  at  the 
house  of  whose  father  he  had  boarded,  when  a 
stranger,  and  without  resources.  She  proved  an  af- 
fectionate, and  congenial  companion,  entering  warm- 
ly into  his  system  of  frugality,  and  by  aiding  him  in 
folding  and  stitching  pamphlets,  and  tending  his 
shop,  contributed  to  his  success  in  business. 

By  great  economy  of  time,  he  was  enabled  to  se- 
cure an  hour  or  two,  each  day,  for  reading.  He 
then  commenced  by  himself,  the  study  of  languages. 
He  soon  gained  such  a  knowledge  of  French,  as  to 
read  it  with  perfect  ease,  and  then  acquired  both 
Italian  and  Spanish.  He  was  as  solicitous  for  moral 
as  for  intellectual  improvement,  and  was  equally 
systematic  to  attain  it.  I 

He  furnished  himself  with  a  tablet,  on  which  he 
wrote  the  names  of  different  virtues, — for  instance, 
Temperance,  Industry,  Frugality,  Justice,  Tranquil- 
lity of  Temper,  and  Order  in  the  arrangement  of 
things,  and  the  distribution  of  time.  To  each  he  af- 
fixed a  precept,  and  then  taking  them  in  succession, 
devoted  a  week  to  the  particular  observation  of  one 
virtue ;  thus  going  through  the  list,  week  after  week, 
16 


182  the  boy's  book. 

for  many  years,  until  he  had  formed  correspondent 
habits,  on  which  he  might  depend. 

In  speaking  of  this  system,  when  about  eighty 
years  old,  he  ascribes  to  his  perseverance  in  it,  the; 
"constant  felicity  of  his  life;  to  the  temperance 
thus  established,  his  long-continued  health  ;  to  in- 
dustry and  frugality,  the  acquisition  of  his  fortune, 
and  the  knowledge  which  enabled  him  to  be  an  use- 
ful citizen ;  to  sincerity  and  justice,  the  confidence 
of  his  country,  and  the  honourable  employments  it 
had  conferred  upon  him." 

He  adds,  that  to  the  "joint  influence  of  the  whole 
mass  of  these  virtues,  even  in  the  imperfect  state  I 
was  able  to  acquire  them,  I  impute  all  that  evenness 
of  temper,  and  cheerfulness  in  conversation,  which 
make  my  company  still  sought  for,  and  agreeable 
to  the  young.  1  hope  some  of  my  descendants  may 
follow  the  example,  and  like  their  aged  ancestor, 
reap  the  same  benefit." 

His  prudence,  and  excellent  judgment,  made  his 
advice  sought  for,  and  prized.  At  the  age  of  thirty, 
he  was  chosen  Clerk  of  the  General  Assembly  of 
Pennsylvania.  His  introduction  to  public  offices  of 
honour,  created  some  envy.  He  was  careful  not  to 
lose  his  temper,  but  to  conciliate  those  who  were  un- 
friendly, as  far  as  he  could  do  so,  consistently  with 
manly  dignity. 

1  He  was  once  opposed  by  a  man  of  education  and 
talents.  His  knowledge  of  human  nature,  pointed 
out  a  mode  of  softening  his  enmity.  He  sent  a  po- 
lite note,  requesting  the  loan  from  his  library,  of  a 
valuable  book.  It  was  sent,  and  after  a  week,  was 
returned,  with  a  note,  expressing  gratitude.    When, 


DR.   BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.  183 

he  next  met  the  gentleman,  he  was  treated  with 
civility,  and  they  afterwards  became  warm  friends. 

On  this  occasion,  he  remarks,  that  it  furnished  a 
new  instance  of  the  truth  of  a  maxim,  he  learned 
when  a  boy,  that  he  who  has  once  done  you  a  kind- 
ness, will  be  more  ready  to  do  you  another,  than  he 
whom  you  have  yourself  obliged.  He  adds,  what  all 
young  persons  would  do  well  to  adopt  as  a  rule, 
"  how  much  more  profitable  it  is,  prudently  to  re- 
move, than  to  resent,  return,  or  continue,  unkind 
and  inimical  treatment." 

He  turned  much  of  his  attention  to  internal  im- 
provements,— to  the  regulation  of  the  city-watchmen, 
— the  formation  of  fire-companies, — the  establishment 
of  an  academy, — and  a  hospital  for  the  sick, — the 
regulation  of  affairs  with  the  neighbouring  Indians, 
— and  the  general  interests  of  education.  He  was 
chosen  member  of  the  Legislature,  and  became 
loaded  with  public  offices.  ! 

He  had  a  strong  taste  for  philosophical  studies, 
and  his  experiments  in  electricity,  which  resulted  in 
the  practical  discovery  of  the  protection  afforded  to 
"buildings  by  lightning-rods,  rendered  his  name  il- 
lustrious. The  Royal  Society  of  London,  before 
whom  his  papers  on  this  subject  were  read,  sent  him 
a  gold  medal,  and  elected  him  a  member  of  their 
honourable  body.  » 

His  theory  was  readily  adopted,  and  highly  ap- 
plauded in  France.  His  volume  on  Electricity,  was 
translated  into  French,  Italian,  German,  and  Latin, 
and  its  authority  admitted  by  all  the  philosophers  of 
Europe.  Honorary  degrees  were  conferred  on  him 
by  Yale  College,  in  Connecticut,  and  Harward  Uni- 


184  the  eoy's  book. 

versity  at  Cambridge.  He  was  appointed  Post- 
Master-General,  and  rendered  that  department  a 
source  of  profit  to  the  country. 

He  was  resorted  to  by  General  Braddock,  for  ad- 
vice and  assistance,  when,  in  1754,  he  made  his  unfor- 
tunate campaign,  against  the  French  and  Indians , 
and  three  years  after  was  appointed  to  proceed  to 
England,  to  represent  the  interests  of  Pennsylvania, 
at  the  court  of  St.  James.  He  remained  there,  six 
years,  and,  at  his  return,  received  the  thanks  of  the 
legislature,  for  "  important  services  done  to  that  pro- 
vince in  particular,  and  to  America  in  general,"  with 
a  compensation  of  five  thousand  pounds. 
i  On  a  second  visit  to  Great  Britain,  he  passed  over 
to  Holland,  Germany,  and  France.  His  fame  had 
preceded  him.  He  was  received  with  high  marks  of 
honour,  by  philosophers  and  literary  men,  and  pre- 
sented to  Louis  the  Fifteenth.  He  was  himself  an 
illustration  of  the  truth  of  that  passage  from  Pro- 
verbs, which  his  father  had  taught  him,  when  a 
boy;  "Seest  thou  a  man  diligent  in  his  business1? 
He  shall  stand  before  kings, — he  shall  not  stand  be- 
fore mean  men." 

When  disagreement  commenced  between  Great 
Britain  and  her  colonies,  he,  being  in  the  mother- 
country,  did  all  in  his  power  to  promote  a  recon- 
ciliation. Perceiving  no  prospect  of  success,  he  re- 
turned home  in  1775,  and  the  very  day  after  his  re- 
turn, was  elected  member  of  Congress,  for  the  State 
of  Pennsylvania. 

He  became  an  earnest  advocate  for  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  United  States,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
year  1776,  was  sent  as  their  ambassador  to  the  court 


DK.  BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN.  195 

of  France.  His  great  personal  influence  there,  aris- 
ing from  his  reputation  as  a  philosopher,  he  devoted 
with  true  and  untiring  patriotism,  to  the  good  of  his 
beloved  country  ;  and  his  negotiations,  conducted 
with  his  characteristic  prudence,  were  highly  bene- 
ficial to  its  interests. 

In  the  autumn  of  1785,  he  returned  to  Philadelphia. 
His  native  country  had  taken  her  acknowledged  seat 
among  the  nations,  and  the  venerable  statesman  was 
received  with  affectionate  gratitude.  In  his  favour- 
ite philosophical  studies,  with  occasional  attention  to 
public  business,  he  passed  his  remaining  years, 
cheerful  and  useful  to  the  last. 

In  the  sickness  which  terminated  his  life,  he 
evinced  the  most  entire  resignation,  acknowledging 
amid  the  severest  pains,  the  goodness  and  justice  of 
that  Being  who  saw  fit  that  he  should  be  thus  afflict- 
ed. He  died  on  the  17th  of  April,  1790,  having  lived 
eighty-four  years,  and  three  months,  happily  to 
himself,  and  usefully  to  his  country,  and  to  man- 
kind. 

The  principal  traits  in  the  character  of  Dr.  Frank- 
lin, which  made  him  distinguished,  and  which  the 
young  should  imitate,  were  industry, — perseverance 
in  improvement, — high  sense  of  the  value  of  time, — 
prudence, — honesty,  and  activity  for  the  public  good, 
united  with  that  cheerful  temper  which  made  his 
intellect  amiable,  and  his  virtues  lovely,  to  all  around, 
even  in  extreme  old  age. 

He  is  numbered   among  our  most  distinguished 

writers.     His  opinions  are  marked  by  philanthropy, 

and  shrewd,  good  sense,  and  his  style  by  clearness 

and  simplicity.    An  almanac,  which  he  commenced 

16* 


186  the  boy's  book. 

at  the  age  of  twenty-five  years,  and  continued  to 
publish  for  the  same  period  of  time,  contained  much 
knowledge  for  the  common  people,  and  many  wise 
precepts  about  economy  of  time  and  money.  These 
with  the  title  of  the  "  Sayings  of  Poor  Richard"  were 
afterwards  collected,  and  reprinted  in  Great  Britain, 
and  translated  into  French. 

Here  is  some  of  his  advice.  "  Sloth  makes  all 
things  difficult;  but  Industry,  all  things  easy. 
Sloth,  like  rust,  consumes  faster,  than  labour  wears. 
He  who  rises  late,  may  trot  all  day,  yet  scarce  over- 
take his  business  at  night.  It  is  true,  there  is  much 
to  be  done,  and  perhaps,  you  are  weak-handed,  but 
"by  diligence  and  patience,  the  mouse  ate  into  the 
cable. 

"Employ  time  well;  and  since  thou  art  not  sure 
of  a  minute,  throw  not  away  an  hour.  Yet  depend 
not  too  much  upon  thine  own  industry,  frugality,  and 
prudence,  though  they  are  excellent  things ;  for 
without  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  they  may  be  blast- 
ed. Therefore  ask  that  blessing  humbly,  and  be  not 
uncharitable  to  those  who  at  present  seem  to  be 
without  it,  but  comfort  and  help  them. 

"  Nothing  can  contribute  to  true  happiness,  that  is 
inconsistent  with  duty ;  nor  can  a  course  of  action 
conformable  to  it,  be  finally  without  an  ample  reward. 
For  God  governs :  and  he  is  good.  And  you  will  never 
be  without  his  direction,  if  you  humbly  ask  it,  and 
show  yourself  always  ready  to  obey  it." 


THE  LONGEST  DAY.  187 


THE  LONGEST  DAY. 

From  us,  if  every  fleeting  hour, 
Improvement's  boon  may  ask, 

The  longest  day  must  surely  claim, 
The  most  important  task. 

But  since  the  longest  day  must  end, 

The  happiest  life  decay, 
Let  wisdom's  hand,  and  wisdom's  voice, 

Direct  our  youthful  way. 

And  when  we  rise,  let  morning's  eye 

Convey  the  lesson  sweet, 
And  ere  we  sleep,  an  angel's  sigh 

The  sacred  rule  repeat : 

Patient  to  render  good  to  all, 
Within  our  bounded  sphere, 

The  active  deed,  the  grateful  word. 
The  sympathizing  tear : 

To  raise  the  heart  to  Him  who  gives 
Our  path  with  hope  to  shine, 

Meekly  receive  the  cup  of  joy, 
Or  tranquilly  resign : 

To  let  no  fear  disturb  the  breast, 

No  doubt  obscure  our  sky, 
Since  Virtue  cannot  live  uablest, 

Or  unrewarded  die. 


188  the  boy's  book. 


CHILDREN  BRINGING  WATER  FROM  A 
SPRING. 

Ye  have  found  the  wealth  of  the  gushing  spring, 

Where  the  verdant  branches  meet, 
And  your  simple  vases  have  freely  fill'd 

With  its  sparkling  waters  sweet. 

While  watching,  perchance,  at  the  cottage  door, 

Your  mother  exults  to  see 
Her  beautiful  ones,  returning  home 

With  their  innocent  smile  of  glee. 

And  when  the  heat  of  the  noon  is  high, 

Your  father,  amid  his  care, 
Will  lean  on  the  top  of  his  shining  spade, 

And  bless  the  draught  ye  bear. 

But  ye  are  drinking  of  childhood's  spring, 

Whose  bubbling  waters  clear, 
Have  never  a  poisonous  weed  to  sting, 

Or  a  dreg  of  guilt  and  fear. 

Have  ye  heard  of  a  spring  that  doth  never  fail, 

'Mid  the  summer's  parching  heat  1 
Which  Winter  hath  never  had  power  to  seal 

Or  to  staunch  with  his  icy  feet  1 

Have  ye  heard  of  a  fount  that  can  cleanse  the  heart, 

And  peace  to  the  lost  restore  ] 
Go  seek  for  it  now,  in  the  dawn  of  your  life, 

And  taste  it,  and  thirst  no  more. 


HON.   ROGER   SHERMAN.  ISO 


HON.  ROGER  SHERMAN. 

Roger  Sherman,  was  the  son  of  a  farmer,  and 
born  in  Newton,  Massachusetts,  April  19th,  1721. 
He  received  only  such  means  of  instruction,  as  the 
common,  country  schools  afforded.  Those  schools 
more  than  a  hundred  years  .since,  were  far  inferior 
to  what  they  now  are ;  so  that  his  advantages  to  ac- 
quire an  education,  were  exceedingly  limited. 

Neither  was  he  able  constantly  to  attend  even  the 
poor  schools,  to  which  he  had  access.  The  employ- 
ments of  agriculture,  occupied  him  for  a  part  of  the 
year,  during  his  boyhood  ;  and,  at  a  proper  age,  he 
was  bound  apprentice  to  a  shoemaker.  Yet  amid  a 
life  of  hard  labour,  he  secured  some  time  for  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge. 

Such  was  his  zeal  for  mental  improvement,  that 
he  used  to  fasten  a  book  before  him  on  his  shoe- 
maker's bench,  and  when  there  was  a  moment  to 
spare  from  his  work,  fix  his  eyes  upon  it.  While 
his  hands  were  busy,  he  meditated  on  what  he  had 
read.  Thus,  he  became  a  cartful,  patient  thinker,  and 
this  is  better  than  to  read  many  books  without  re- 
flection. 

By  his  love  of  knowledge,  and  perseverance  in 
overcoming  obstacles,  he  made  proficiency  not  only 
in  arithmetic,  geography,  and  the  general  principles 
of  history,   but  in  logic,   philosophy,   the    higher 


190  THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

"branches  of  mathematics,  political  economy,  and 
theology.  His  conduct  was  under  the  guidance  of 
rectitude,  and  morality,  and  in  his  heart  was  that 
"  fear  of  God,  which  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom." 

He  early  made  a  profession  of  religion,  and  so 
subjected  his  whole  conduct  to  its  precepts,  that  he 
became  eminent  for  self-control.  He  mentioned 
that  in  gaining  the  government  of  his  passions,  he 
was  aided  by  the  study  of  Dr.  Watts'  treatise  on  that 
subject ;  and  to  the  close  of  life,  he  was  distinguished 
for  the  mildness,  serenity,  and  sedateness,  which  he 
took  such  pains  in  youth,  to  acquire. 

When  he  had  reached  the  age  of  nineteen  years, 
his  father  died,  and  the  care  of  the  family  devolved 
on  him.  His  filial  virtues  were  strongly  exemplified, 
in  his  constant  attentions  to  the  comfort  of  a  mother, 
who  lived  to  a  great  age.  By  his  industry  on  the 
farm,  as  well  as  in  his  trade,  he  was  enabled  also  to 
support  a  numerous  family  of  brothers  and  sisters. 

With  his  fraternal  tenderness,  he  mingled  the 
judgment  of  a  father,  in  superintending  the  charac- 
ter of  those,  whom  Providence  had  intrusted  to  his 
guidance,  while  he  was  himself  so  young.  By  rigid 
economy,  and  self-denial,  he  was  enabled  to  secure 
for  two  of  his  brothers,  those  advantages  of  collegi- 
ate education,  which  he  had  never  himself  enjoyed. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-two,  he  removed  his  mother 
and  household,  to  New-Milford,  and  entered  into  the 
business  of  a  country-merchant.  With  character- 
istic simplicity,  he  performed  this  journey  on  foot, 
taking  care  to  have  his  shoemaker's  tools,  conveyed 
to  his  new  home.  Amid  his  close  application  to  busi- 
ness, he  still  found  time  for  scientific  pursuits,  and 


HON.  ROGER  SHERMAN.  191 

made  astronomical  calculations  for  an  almanac  in 
New- York,  which  he  supplied  for  several  years. 

Circumstances  which  seemed  to  him,  like  a  direct 
intimation  of  duty,  induced  him  to  apply  himself  to 
legal  studies.  Success  attended  his  indefatigable 
diligence,  and  he  was  soon  appointed  one  of  the 
justices  of  the  court  of  common  pleas,  then,  a  judge 
of  the  superior  court,  and  member  of  the  senate,  of 
his  native  state.  After  his  removal  to  New-Haven, 
he  held  for  many  years,  the  office  of  treasurer  to 
Yale  College,  and  received  from  that  institution,  the 
honorary  degree  of  Master  of  Arts. 

His  opinions  as  a  lawyer,  were  received  with 
great  respect,  and  his  conduct  as  a  judge,  was  mark- 
ed by  uprightness,  and  strict  adherence  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  justice.  Higher  honours  still  awaited  him, 
and  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the  first  Congress, 
in  1774,  where  he  continued  till  his  death,  a  period  of 
nineteen  years. 

In  the  summer  of  1776,  he  was  appointed  one  of 
the  five  statesmen,  who  prepared  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  for  the  United  States.  After  the 
blessings  of  peace,  had  been  vouchsafed  to  our 
country,  he  was  chosen  delegate  to  the  General  Con- 
vention, to  whom  the  important  work  was  commit- 
ted of  forming  a  constitution,  for  its  permanent  gov- 
ernment. 

In  all  these  arduous  labours,  he  sought  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Almighty,  and  depended  upon  his  bles- 
sing. In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  about  this  period,  he 
says,  "May  that  kind  Providence,  which  guarded 
these  States,  through  a  dangerous  and  distressing 


192  the  boy's  book. 

war,  to  peace  and  liberty,  still  watch  over,  and 
guide  them  in  the  way  of  safety." 

He  was  elected  to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States, 
and  remained  in  that  dignified  body  until  his  death. 
Here,  and  through  the  whole  of  his  congressional 
life,  his  application  to  business  was  most  persevering, 
and  his  clear  judgment,  rational  opinions,  and  in- 
flexible integrity  of  principle,  won  the  respect  and 
homage  of  all  men. 

From  his  extensive  acquaintance  with  history,  as 
well  as  his  knowledge  of  human  nature,  he  derived 
great  aid,  in  the  elevated  sphere  of  duty  which  was 
appointed  him.  He  was  also  eminently  distinguish- 
ed  for  good  sense,  and  discretion,  in  all  his  words 
and  deeds.  "  There  is  Mr.  Sherman  of  Connecticut, 
who  never  said  a  foolish  thing  in  his  life,"  was  the 
tribute  of  respect,  paid  him  by  one  of  the  Presidents 
of  the  United  States,  as  he  pointed  out  to  a  stran- 
ger, some  of  the  most  eminent  statesmen,  in  the  hall 
of  Congress. 

Chief  Justice  Ellsworth,  who  resembled  him  in 
strength  of  intellect,  high  integrity  of  principle,  and 
general  structure  of  character,  acknowledged  that 
he  had  made  him  his  model,  from  his  youth.  "  And 
this,"  said  the  elder  President  Adams,  "is  praise 
enough  for  them  both." 

Though  Mr.  Sherman  was  elevated  to  some  of  the 
highest  honours,  which  his  country  could  bestow,  he 
was  never  ashamed  of  the  obscurity  of  his  origin. 
During  the  revolutionary  war,  when  the  expenses  of 
the  army,  were  submitted  to  the  inspection  of  Con- 
gress, he  informed  them,  that  in  the  contract  for  the 
supply  of  shoes,  the  charges  were  too  high. 


i  HON.   ROGEE   SHERMAN.  193 

He  then  gave  a  particular  statement  of  the  cost 
of  leather,  other  necessary  materials,  and  workman- 
ship, and  demonstrated  his  assertion,  beyond  a  doubt. 
The  gentleman  who  attended  with  him,  to  this  ex- 
amination, being  surprised  at  the  minuteness  of  his 
kngwledge,  he  replied,  with  frankness  and  pleasure, 
"  I  am  by  trade,  a  shoemaker." 

He  avoided  show  and  extravagance  of  every  kind, 
and  was  a  consistent,  and  noble  example  of  repub- 
lican simplicity.  Age  did  not  impair  his  usefulness, 
and  his  venerable  appearance  was  admired  by  all. 
He  was  a  member  of  the  Senate,  at  the  time  of  his 
death,  which  took  place  July  23d,  1793,  at  the  age 
of  seventy-two,  while  he  was  in  full  possession  of 
his  powers  of  mind  and  body,  and  strong  in  the 
hope  of  the  gospel  which  he  loved. 

His  person  was  lofty,  erect,  and  well-proportioned, 
and  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  manly  and 
agreeable.  He  was  twice  married,  first  to  Miss 
Elizabeth  Hartwell,  and  afterwards  to  Miss  Re- 
becca Prescott,  both  natives  of  Massachusetts,  and 
was  the  father  of  fifteen  children.  In  the  domestic 
relations  of  son,  and  brother,  husband,  father,  and 
friend,  he  was  most  kind  and  faithful.  No  public 
business,  however  pressing,  led  him  to  neglect  those 
sacred,  relative  duties. 

The  principles  of  truth,  and  accountability  to 
God,  regulated   all  his  conduct.     What  is  right  ?— 

what  course  ought  I  in  conscience  to  pursue  1 were  the 

questions  he  continually  asked  himself:   and  not 

"what  is  popular  ?— what  will  affect  my  interest  V1 

Thus  his  integrity  was  never   questioned,  and  he 

17 


194  the  boy's  book. 

dwelt  always  in  the  clear  sunshine  of  a  "  conscience 
void  of  offence,  towards  God,  and  towards  man." 

The  volume  which  he  most  loved  and  consulted, 
was  the  Sacred  Scriptures.  He  was  accustomed  to 
purchase  a  new  copy,  at  every  session  of  Congress, 
L-to  read  it  daily,  and  to  present  it  to  one  of  his 
children,  at  his  return  home.  How  valuable  must 
have  been  the  volume,  thus  hallowed  by  his  medi- 
tations and  prayers.  For  the  way  in  which  Roger 
Sherman  became  great,  and  surely  he  was  one  of 
our  greatest  men,  was  by  taking  into  his  heart,  m 
youth,  the  spirit  and  precepts  of  the  Word  of  God. 


DAVID'S  ELEGY  ON  JONATHAN. 

Once,  as  the  exil'd  David  sadly  rov'd 
By  Saul  excluded  from  the  land  he  lov'd, 
And  silent  mus'd  o'er  memory's  cherish'd  scene, 
His  shepherd  home,  and  native  vallies  green, 
The  simple  joys  that  cheer'd  his  youthful  view, 
The  constant  friend,  in  every  sorrow  true, 
And  as  his  lonely  heart,  amid  its  pain, 
Swell'd  with  new  hope  to  taste  those  joys  again, 
A  traveller  came,  whose  brow  was  pale  with  dread, 
Rent  were  his  robes,  and  dust  defil'd  his  head. 

"I  saw  the  battle  on  Gilboa's  height, 
Where  Israel  proudly  urged  her  men  of  might, 
Before  the  spear  of  Gath  those  legions  fled, 
Her  king  is  slain,— her  god-like  prince  is  dead, 
I  saw  their  robes  distain'd,"— he  scarcely  said, 


david's  elegy  on  Jonathan.  195 

And  paus'd, — for  sorrow  shook  the  exile's  frame, 
Tears  o'er  his  brow  in  rushing  torrents  came, 
While  on  his  trembling  harp  he  breath'd  his  wo 
With  broken  cadence,  and  in  murmurs  low. 

Who,  on  those  high  and  lonely  cliffs  shall  save 
The  uncover'd  ashes  of  the  fallen  brave ! 
Who  from  their  summits  cleanse  the  fatal  stain 
Of  royal  strength,  and  manly  beauty  slain  1 
O  wounded  Israel !  hide  thy  tears  that  flow, 
Lest  proud  Philistia  triumph  in  thy  wo, 
Lest  listening  Gath  should  taunt  thy  mourning  train, 
Or  haughty  Ekron  revel  in  thy  pain. 

And  ye  Gilboa's  mountains  stern  and  rude, 
Whose  guilty  cliffs  received  the  royal  blood, 
Who  saw  remorseless  on  the  battle  day 
The  shield  from  God's  anointed  torn  away, 
Raise  not  your  brows,  the  dews  of  heaven  to  taste, 
Let  no  kind  shower  refresh  your  parching  waste, 
No  purifying  stream  for  you  be  spilt, 
Nor  sacred  offerings  expiate  your  guilt. 

In  the  dire  contest,  on  the  field  of  might, 
How  bold  were  they  who  now  lie  wrapt  in  night  • 
The  prince's  bow, — what  mortal  force  could  stay ! 
The  monarch's  sword  what  valour  turn  away  I 
Like  eagles  swift,  their  dauntless  course  was  run, 
In  life  united,  and  in  death  but  one. 

Oh !  lift  o'er  fallen  Saul,  the  tearful  eye 
Ye  Jewish  dames, — whose  robes  in  splendour  vie, 
He  gave  those  robes  with  glitt'ring  pomp  to  shine, 
And  in  his  tomb  your  treasur'd  joys  decline, 


196  the  boy's  book. 

How  are  the  mighty  fallen,  in  danger's  hour, 
Though  girt  with  strength,  and  doubly  armed  in  power; 
On  their  own  lands  their  mingled  blood  was  shed, 
And  vanquish'd  legions  bow'd  the  astonish'd  head. 

But  Oh !  my  soul  is  sad,— my  tears  descend 
For  thee,  my  more  than  brother,  more  than  friend? 
Long  tried  and  firm,  was  thy  attachment  kind,^ 
Than  friendship  warmer,  more  than  love  refin'd, 
What  shall  I  say  1— for  ill  these  tones  express 
Thy  lost  affection  or  my  deep  distress. 
—How  are  the  mighty  fallen !  how  turn'd  away 
The  dauntless  sword  in  war's  disastrous  day  !" 


THE   SEA-BOY. 


"Up  the  main-top-mast,  ho !" 

The  storm  was  loud, 
And  the  deep  midnight  muffled  up  her  head, 
Leaving  no  ray. 

By  the  red  binnacle, 
I  saw  the  sea-boy.    His  young  cheek  was  pale, 
And  his  lips  trembled.    But  he  dar'd  not  hear 
That  hoarse  command  repeated.    So  he  sprang, 
With  slender  foot  amid  the  slippery  shrouds. 

He,  oft  by  moonlight  watch,  had  lur'd  my  ear, 

With  everlasting  stories  of  his  home, 

And  of  his  mother.    His  fair  brow  told  tales 


THE  SEA-BOY.  197 

Of  household  kisses,  and  of  gentle  hands 
That  bound  it  when  it  ached,  and  laid  it  down 
On  the  soft  pillow,  with  a  curtaining  care. 

And  he  had  sometimes  spoken  of  the  cheer 
Xhat  waited  him,  when,  wearied  from  his  school, 
At  winter's  eve,  he  came.    Then,  he  would  pause, 
For  his  high  beating  bosom  threw  a  chain 
O'er  his  proud  lips,  or  else  he  would  have  sigh'd, 
In  deep  remorse,  for  leaving  such  a  home. 

And  he  would  haste  away,  and  pace  the  deck, 
More  rapidly,  as  if  to  hide  from  me, 
The  gushing  tear.    I  mark'd  the  inward  strife 
Unquestioning,  save  by  a  silent  prayer 
That  the  tear  wrung  so  bitterly,  might  work 
The  sea-boy's  good,  and  wash  away  all  trace 
Of  disobedience.    Now,  the  same  big  tear 
Hung  like  a  pearl  upon  him,  as  he  climb'd, 
And  grappled  to  the  mast. 

I  watch'd  his  toil, 
With  strange  foreboding,  till  he  seem'd  a  speck 
Upon  the  ebon  bosom  of  the  cloud. 
And  I  remember'd  that  he  once  had  said, 
"  I  fear  I  shall  not  see  my  home  again:" 
And  sad  the  memory  of  those  mournful  words, 
Dwelt  with  me,  as  he  pass'd  above  my  sight, 
Into  thick  darkness. 

The  wild  blast  swept  on. 
The  strong  ship  toss'd. 

Shuddering,  I  heard  a  plunge, 
A  heavy  plunge, — a  gurgling  'mid  the  wave. 
I  shouted  to  the  crew.    In  vain !  In  vain ! 
17* 


198 


BOOK. 


The  ship  held  on  her  way.    And  never  more 
Shall  that  poor,  delicate  sea-boy  raise  his  head, 
To  do  the  bidding  of  those  roughen'd  men, 
Whose  home  is  on  the  sea. 

And  never  more 
May  his  fond  mother  strain  him  to  her  breast, 
Weeping  that  hardship  thus  should  bronze  the  brow, 
To  her  so  beautiful,  nor  the  kind  sire 
Make  glad  by  his  forgiveness,  the  rash  youth 
Who  wander'd  from  his  home,  to  throw  the  wealth 
Of  his  warm  feelings  on  the  faithless  sea. 


REV.  JOHN  FREDERIC  OBERLIN. 

John  Frederic  Oberlin,  was  born  August  31st, 
1740,  at  Strasburg,  in  Germany.  Kindness  and  gen- 
tleness of  temper,  were  visible  in  his  infancy ;  and 
in  his  childhood,  he  showed  that  disposition  to  do  good 
to  others,  which  distinguished  his  maturity,  and  re- 
mained with  him,  until  the  close  of  life. 

The  small  sums  of  money,  which  were  given  him 
by  his  father,  who  was  poor,  he  carefully  laid  by, 
but  not  for  himself.  It  was  his  pleasure  to  seek  out, 
and  relieve  sickness  and  want.  Sometimes,  when  a 
bill  was  brought  to  his  father,  he  would  steadfastly 
watch  his  countenance,  and  if  he  saw  it  troubled, 
and  imagined  that  he  had  not  enough  to  pay  the  de- 
mand, he  would  run  for  his  little  box,  and  empty  it, 
with  joy,  into  his  father's  hand. 


REV.   JOHN   FREDERIC    OBERLIN.  199 

Piety  continued  to  grow  with  his  growth,  and 
strengthen  with  his  strength.  His  choice  was  to  be- 
come a  minister  of  the  gospel.  At  the  age  of  twenty, 
he  became  the  pastor  of  Waldbach,  a  parish  situ- 
ated among  the  high  mountains,  which  divide  France 
from  Germany.  This  region,  is  called  by  the  French, 
ban  de  la  roche,  or  the  district  of  the  rock,  and  by  the 
Germans,  steinthal,  or  the  valley  of  stone. 

The  sterility  of  this  spot,  is  in  accordance  with 
the  names  that  have  been  given  it.  Winter  begins 
there,  in  September,  and  seldom  are  the  snows 
melted  by  June.  The  inhabitants  found  it  difficult 
to  obtain  by  tillage,  enough  for  their  subsistence, 
and  their  ignorance  equalled  their  poverty. 

The  predecessor  of  Oberlin,  had  endeavoured  to 
raise  the  character  of  their  schools.  He  found  that 
one  of  their  best  ones,  had  been  kept  in  a  misera- 
ble cottage,  by  a  wretched  old  man,  who  said  with 
great  simplicity,  that  his  business  had  been  that  of 
a  swine-herd,  but  that  when  he  became  unfit  for  that 
work,  they  had  employed  him  to  teach  the  children. 

To  this  people,  Oberlin  went,  following  the  foot- 
steps of  His  Divine  Master,  who  pleased  not  himself, 
but  came  to  seek  and  to  save  the  lost.  His  zealous 
endeavours,  to  raise  their  condition,  and  reform  their 
habits,  were  at  first  misunderstood,  and  so  far  from 
awakening  gratitude,  led  to  abuse  and  persecution. 

But  he  was  neither  daunted  or  discouraged.  Hav- 
ing been  informed  that  some  of  the  disaffected  ones, 
intended  him  personal  violence,  he  preached  from 
that  passage  of  our  Saviour's  sermon  on  the  mount, 
"  I  say  unto  you,  that  ye  resist  not  evil."  While 
the  conspirators  were  ridiculing  the  sermon,  and 


200  the  boy's  book. 

wondering  if  he  would  behave  as  he  had  advised 
others  to  do,  he  suddenly  appeared  among  them. 

"Here  am  I,  my  friends!"  he  said,  with  perfect 
calmness.  "  You  are  wishing  to  do  me  some  harm.  Is 
it  not  better  that  I  should  thus  give  myself  up  to  you, 
than  that  you  should  be  guilty  of  the  meanness  of 
lying  in  wait  to  take  me  1"  Awed  by  his  dignity 
and  piety,  they  acknowledged  their  evil  designs,  and 
entreated  his  pardon.  He  freely  forgave  them,  and 
they  were  in  future,  his  friends. 

He  showed  the  same  moral  courage,  when  a  boy. 
In  the  streets  of  Strasburg,  he  once  saw  an  unfeeling 
officer,  abusing  a  sick  beggar.  Going  boldly  be- 
tween them,  he  reproved  the  tyrannical  man,  who 
being  very  angry,  would  have  seized  him.  But  the 
neighbours  who  loved  the  child,  gathering  round, 
protected  him,  and  rescued  the  beggar. 

Afterwards,  passing  in  a  narrow  and  lonely  way, 
he  saw  the  same  officer  approaching  him.  "Now, 
thought  the  boy,  perhaps  he  will  punish  me.  Shall 
I  attempt  to  escape  1  No,  I  did  my  duty  to  the  poor 
man.  God  is  with  me.  Why  should  I  fear]"  The 
officer,  who  had  so  lately  threatened  him,  passed  by, 
and  did  him  no  harm.  True  piety  was  the  founda- 
tion of  his  courage. 

The  same  holy  principle  led  him  to  persevere  in 
improving  the  condition  and  character  of  his  poor 
parishioners.  He  found  the  roads  among  them,  so 
exceedingly  bad,  that  intercourse  between  the  ham- 
lets, was  both  difficult  and  dangerous.  He  induced 
them  to  break  rocks,  and  build  a  wall  of  considera- 
ble length,  on  one  side  of  their  mountain-road,  to 


REV.   JOHN   FREDERIC    OBERLIN.  201 

keep  the  earth  and  stones,  from  being  washed  into 
the  vale  below. 

He  told  them  they  must  build  a  bridge,  over  a 
river,  they  had  always  been  accustomed  to  ford. 
"How  can  these  things  be  done!"  they  exclaimed. 
"  Gome  and  see,"  said  Oberlin.  Taking  a  pick-axe, 
and  other  implements,  he  set  them  an  example  of 
their  use.  When  they  beheld  him,  selecting  the 
most  difficult  work  for  himself,  they  willingly  exert- 
ed themselves,  and  the  industry  which  he  taught 
them,  was  a  new  bond  of  affection. 

Soon,  a  neat  bridge  was  constructed,  and  a  good 
road  opened,  from  Waldbach  to  Strasburg,  which 
was  also  extended  to  each  of  the  five  hamlets,  or 
little  villages,  where  he  ministered.  The  force  of 
his  religious  instructions  was  not  impaired  by  his 
efforts  to  make  them  comfortable,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, his  influence  extended  and  deepened,  through 
these  proofs  of  his  love. 

He  found  them  deficient  in  many  of  the  mechanic 
arts,  which  seem  necessary  to  civilization.  There 
were  neither  blacksmiths  to  furnish  tools  for  the 
labourer,  nor  masons  to  build  chimneys  to  their 
houses.  He  procured  several  youths  to  be  sent  to 
Strasburg,  as  apprentices,  who,  when  they  had  ob- 
tained their  respective  trades,  returned,  and  became 
teachers  of  others. 

His  people,  had  lived  in  hovels,  built  of  rocks, 
against  the  sides  of  the  mountain,  without  cellars,  or 
chimne}^s.  He  taught  them  how  to  build  neat  and 
commodious  cottages,  to  make  gardens,  to  rear  vege- 
tables, to  plant  fruit-trees.  Soon,  this  desolate  re- 
gion, as  if  by   magic,  was  adorned  with  pleasant 


202  the  boy's  book. 

• 

habitations,  eacn  surrounded  by  its  little  orchard  and 
garden. 

Amid  all  these  labours,  the  pastor  remitted  not 
his  care,  for  the  souls  of  his  people.  Especially, 
were  the  interests  of  education,  dear  to  him.  He 
instructed  such  promising  young  people,  as  were 
willing  to  become  teachers,  and  caused  school-houses 
to  be  built  in  each  of  the  five  little  hamlets. 

Perceiving  that  while  the  older  children  were  en- 
gaged in  their  studies,  the  little  ones  lost  much  of 
their  time,  he  collected  them  together,  and  had  les- 
sons adapted  to  their  comprehension.  His  wife, 
joining  her  exertions  with  his,  procured  two  female 
teachers  for  each  school ;  one  taught  lessons  from 
books,  and  the  other,  to  spin,  to  knit,  and  to  sew ; 
that  useful  employment,  and  intellectual  knowledge, 
might  advance  hand  in  hand. 

When  the  pupils  were  wearied  with  work,  or 
study,  the  kind  teachers  told  them  stories  from  the 
Scriptures,  or  showed  them  drawings  of  animals  and 
plants,  explaining  their  nature  and  uses.  On  one 
day  of  each  week,  the  scholars  assembled,  and  their 
good  pastor  examined  them  in  their  different  lessons, 
and  added  his  own  instructions.  Joy  beamed  on 
their  faces,  when  he  came  among  them ;  and  they 
called  him  their  father,  or  sometimes  in  their  affec- 
tionate manner,  "  our  dear  papa,  Oberlin." 

He  sometimes  distributed  books  among  them,  as 
rewards,  or  lent  them,  requiring  an  account  of  their 
contents,  when  they  were  returned.  Every  Sabbath, 
also,  he  collected  the  children  in  the  church,  heard 
them  recite  their  Bible  lessons,  and  sing  hymns,  and 


REV.   JOHN    FREDERIC   OBERLIN.  203 

gave  them  paternal,  religious  instruction,  with  un- 
wearied tenderness. 

Thus  in  the  secluded  region  of  the  Ban  de  la 
Roche,  we  perceive  the  institution  of  Infant  Schools, 
Norman  Schools,  Sabbath  Schools,  and  Sabbath 
School  Libraries,  all  originating  in  the  active  benevo- 
lence of  one  man  ;  and  he  unprompted  and  uncheer- 
ed  by  intercourse  with  the  philanthropic  spirits,  who 
afterwards  diffused  those  blessings,  over  Europe  and 
America. 

In  the  year  1784,  when  Mr.  Oberlin  was  more 
than  forty  years  old,  he  was  afflicted  by  the  death 
of  his  excellent  wife,  who  had  been  his  helper  in 
these  efforts  to  do  good.  Though  deeply  mourning, 
he  bowed  himself  to  the  Divine  Will.  He  praised 
God  for  the  holy  life  she  had  been  enabled  to  lead, 
and  for  the  faith  that  now  taught  him,  that  she  was 
happy  in  Heaven. 

He  had  received  into  his  family,  a  young  girl  to 
bring  up.  After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Oberlin,  she  ex- 
tended to  her  seven  motherless  children,  the  care 
and  tenderness,  which  she  had  herself  received. 
She  engaged  in  the  same  works  of  charity,  which 
she  had  seen  performed,  and  with  the  most  disinter- 
ested zeal,  took  charge  of  the  pastor's  house,  refusing 
to  receive  any  compensation  for  many  years  of  ser- 
vice. 

It  would  seem  that  Oberlin's  people,  strove  to  imi- 
tate his  virtues.  Their  sympathy  for  orphans  was 
peculiarly  conspicuous.  When  a  poor  family  were 
thus  bereaved,  there  was  always  some  one  ready  to 
receive  them.  Some  households  had  two  or  three 
orphans,  maintained  like^  their  own  children.    One 


204  the  boy's  book. 

poor  woman,  supported  ten  by  her  labour.  Their 
religion  taught  them,  that  such  charities  were  accept- 
able to  God. 

During  the  distresses  of  the  French  Revolution, 
many  fled  to  these  remote  villages,  and  Mr.  Oberlin 
received  them  into  his  house,  until  they  could  find 
other  refuge.  His  home,  though  simply  furnished, 
was  the  abode  of  comfort  and  happiness.  No  luxu- 
ries were  seen  upon  his  table,  but  his  plain  fare  was 
shared  with  others,  in  free  and  true  hospitality. 

Every  thing  in  his  house  and  about  his  grounds 
was  neat,  and  in  order.  The  walls  of  his  apartments, 
were  covered  with  maps  and  drawings  of  Natural 
History.  Appropriate  texts  of  Scripture,  were 
placed  over  the  several  doors.  At  the  entrance  of 
the  dining  room  was  written,  "Blessed  are  they 
who  do  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for 
they  shall  be  filled." 

He  encouraged  his  people  to  be  constantly  indus- 
trious. Through  his  agency,  they  were  taught  to 
spin  cotton,  to  dye  cloth,  to  plait  straw,  and  to  weave 
ribands.  So  prevalent  was  his  example,  and  influ- 
ence, that  scarcely  an  idle  person,  or  a  beggar  was 
seen  among  them. 

He  not  only  instructed  them  in  agriculture,  horti- 
culture, and  the  mechanic  arts,  and  was  their  pastor 
and  school-master,  but  their  physician  also.  Early 
in  life  he  had  devoted  considerable  time  to  the  study 
of  the  theory  of  medicine,  and  now  he  patiently 
climbed  the  steepest  mountains,  in  the  night,  as  well 
as  the  day,  and  at  all  seasons  of  the  year,  to  visit  and 
prescribe  for  the  sick. 

These  services  made  him  most  dear  to  the  people. 


REV.   JOHN    FREDERIC   OBERLIN.  205 

Nor  did  he  forget  to  preserve  their  regard,  by  his 
affectionate  manners.  He  never  met  either  man 
or  woman  among  them,  without  taking  off  his  hat, 
and  saying  some  words  of  kindness.  Every  child 
he  took  by  the  hand,  and  showed  some  little  mark 
of  attention,  adding  often  some  pleasant  advice. 

His  own  fine  manners,  were  imitated  by  his  peo- 
ple; so  that  from  having  been  rude  and  uncouth, 
they  became  insensibly  gentle  and  courteous.  It 
was  remarked  by  strangers  who  visited  them,  that 
though  very  poor,  they  were  exceedingly  polite  and 
happy. 

They  sought  in  every  way,  to  express  their  grati- 
tude to  their  beloved  pastor.  On  one  occasion,  a 
son  of  his,  who  was  travelling  in  France,  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Bible  Society,  was  taken  sick.  He  de- 
sired to  reach  home,  that  he  might  die  there,  but 
he  could  only  get  within  nine  miles  of  his  father's 
house. 

Twelve  of  the  villagers,  set  out  to  bring  him  those 
nine  miles  on  a  litter.  But  finding  that  he  was  not 
able  to  bear  the  open  air,  they  placed  him  in  a  cov- 
ered carriage,  and  as  they  went  slowly  along,  re- 
moved every  stone  from  before  it,  that  no  rude  mo- 
tion of  the  wheels,  might  disturb  the  sufferer.  His 
death  was  peaceful  and  happy,  and  they  mingled 
their  tears  with  those  of  the  father,  with  the  most  af- 
fecting sympathy. 

The  five  villages,  to  whom  Mr.  Oberlin  ministered, 
were  considerably  distant  from  each  other.  He 
therefore  preached  in  each  by  turns.  As  he  kept  no 
horse,  an  inhabitant  of  the  parish  where  he  was  to 
officiate,  brought  one  for  him  every  Sabbath  morn- 
18 


206 

ing.  He  took  his  dinner,  with  some  one  of  the  fam- 
ilies, and  then  conversed  with  every  grown  person 
and  child  belonging  to  it,  on  the  great  concerns  of 
their  soul. 

In  his  sermons,  there  was  an  affecting  eloquence, 
and  a  striking  adaptation  to  the  wants  of  his  people, 
for  he  was  intimately  acquainted  with  all.  He  usu- 
ally preached  in  French,  because  this  language  was 
spoken  by  the  majority  of  his  parishioners.  But  on 
every  Friday  evening,  he  had  service  in  German,  as 
there  were  some,  who  understood  it  better  than 
French. 

This  service  was  of  a  most  sweet  and  paternal 
character.  After  some  explanation  of  a  portion  of 
Scripture,  he  would  say,  "My  children,  are  you 
weary  1"  They  almost  invariably  replied,  that  they 
desired  to  hear  more.  The  females  brought  their 
knitting- work,  for  it  did  not  interrupt  their  attention, 
and  he  loved  to  see  them  usefully  employed. 

The  eyes  of  the  people  sparkled  with  delight, 
when  they  saw  their  good  minister.  He  was  as  a 
guardian  spirit  watching  over  them,  and  guiding  them 
both  for  this  world,  and  the  next.  In  his  instructions 
to  the  young,  in  Natural  History,  he  was  careful  to 
inculcate  a  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  plants,  and 
a  love  of  flowers,  as  a  means  of  softening  and  re- 
fining the  character. 

He  taught  them  to  cultivate  in  their  gardens, 
many  wild  plants  from  the  woods,  and  also  to  draw 
and  paint  flowers.  Some  of  his  pupils  marked  their 
affectionate  remembrance  of  his  seventieth  birth-day, 
by  gifts  of  beautiful  wreaths  and  garlands.    He  ex- 


REV.  JOHN    FREDERIC    OBERLIN.  207 

pressed  his  thanks  in  a  pious,  paternal  letter,  in 
which  he  says, 

"The  beautiful  flowers  with  which  the  Great 
Creator  has  adorned  our  country,  gave  you  the 
means  of  presenting  me  with  this  token  of  your 
united  love.  These  sweet  garlands  will  soon  fade, 
but  I  shall  never  forget  the  happy  feelings  they  have 
awakened ;  and  I  earnestly  pray  that  you  may  be- 
come unfading  flowers  in  the  Paradise  of  God." 

He  lived  in  the  simplest  manner,  that  he  might 
have  the  more  to  give  to  those  who  needed.  A  vis- 
itor to  his  house,  found  there  four  or  five  families, 
who  had  lost  their  habitations  by  fire  ;  to  whom  he 
was  distributing  food,  clothing,  utensils  of  industry, 
and  pictures  for  the  instruction  of  their  children. 

"  His  family,"  said  an  English  traveller,  "  do  not 
have  as  good  or  delicate  food  on  their  table,  as  our 
poor  people  in  England  ;  but  they  are  the  happiest 
Christians,  and  it  is  delightful  to  be  here.  He  treats 
the  poorest,  even  the  children,  with  affection  and 
respect.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  how  changed  they 
all  are,  since  he  came  among  them.  They  were 
then  very  barbarous,  but  now  are  gentle  and  polite, 
and  their  good  minister,  though  now  more  than 
eighty,  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I  ever  saw."  . 

Notwithstanding  his  great  age,  he  continued  to  in- 
struct and  labour  for  his  people,  and  when  he  was 
no  longer  able  to  preach,  he  bore  them  day  and  night  on 
his  prayers.  His  last  sickness,  was  short.  He  said, 
"Lord  Jesus,  take  me  speedily:  nevertheless,  thy  will  be 
done."  A  few  hours  before  his  death,  he  joined  in 
an  act  of  devotion,  his  hands  clasped,  and  his  hea- 
ven-raised countenance,  beaming  with  faith  and  love. 


208  the  boy's  book. 

He  died  on  the  1st  day  of  June,  1826,  at  the  age 
of  eighty-six,  having  lived  in  his  parish  of  Wald- 
bach,  more  than  sixty  years.  The  grief  of  his  peo- 
ple was  affecting.  From  every  part  of  that  rocky 
district,  they  gathered  in  the  midst  of  a  heavy  rain, 
to  gaze  on  the  lifeless  remains  of  their  pastor,  and 
their  friend. 

The  funeral  procession  stretched  from  the  door  of 
his  house,  to  the  mouth  of  his  sepulchre,  a  distance 
of  two  miles.  Every  cottage  poured  out  its  inhabi- 
tants, and  the  children  of  the  schools,  walked  two 
and  two,  chanting  mournful  hymns.  They  paused 
at  the  church,  in  whose  burial-ground  he  was  to  be 
laid,  and  a  minister  ascending  the  pulpit,  read  from 
a  paper,  the  farewell-address  of  their  venerated  sire. 

We  have  room  for  only  a  few  of  his  parting 
words :  "  O  my  dear  parish !  God  will  not  forsake 
thee.  Only  cleave  thou  unto  Him.  Forget  thou 
my  name,  if  thou  wilt,  but  remember  that  of  Jesus 
Christ,  whom  I  have  preached  to  thee.  O  friends ! 
pray,  that  you  may  become  the  beloved  sheep  of  his 
pasture.    Dedicate  yourselves  to  him. 

"  Adieu,  dear  friends,  adieu !  I  have  loved  you 
much.  God  reward  you  for  your  services,  your 
good  deeds,  the  respect  and  obedience  which  you 
have  shown  to  me,  his  poor,  unworthy  servant.  O 
my  God,  Let  thine  eye  watch  over  this  dear  people. 
Let  thine  ear  hear  their  prayers.  Let  thine  arm  be 
extended,  to  help  and  protect  them.  And  grant  that 
young  and  old,  teachers  and  scholars,  ministers  and 
people,  may  all  in  due  time,  meet  together  in  thy 
paradise." 

The  grave  was  dug  beneath  the  shade  of  a  droop- 


PIRST    WINTER    MORNING.  209 

ing  willow.  Great  was  the  weeping,  when  the  body 
of  the  beloved  pastor  was  let  down  into  its  silent 
depths,  and  when  they  realized  that  they  should 
see  his  face  no  more.  Then  they  treasured  up  with 
earnest  affection,  the  words  he  had  spoken  to  them 
and  the  prayer  rose  up  from  every  cottage  home,  as 
from  a  bereaved  household,  that  they  might  be  re-uni- 
ted with  him,  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just. 


FIRST  WINTER  MORNING. 

Awake,  and  let  the  tuneful  lay, 

With  joy  to  Heaven's  high  palace  rise, 

Ere  the  rejoicing  King  of  Day, 
Returns  to  light  the  glowing  skies, 

While  o'er  the  hillocks'  ice-wrapt  heads, 

Refulgent  steals  his  golden  hue, 
And  wreathing  smoke,  aspiring  spreads, 

m  curling  volumes,  light  and  blue. 
Great  Giver  of  our  fleeting  days, 

The  changeful  year  is  full  of  Thee, 
Each  opening  season  speaks  thy  praise, 

And  so,  with  grateful  heart,  should  we. 
Deep  lies  the  snow,  o'er  dale  and  brake, 

Our  bright  fire  sparkles  on  the  hearth, 
And  laughter  from  the  neighbouring  lake, 

Proclaims  the  graceful  skater's  mirth. 
18* 


210 


Yet  think  of  those  in  lowly  shed, 

By  pining  penury  darkly  prest, 
For  whom  no  blazing  fire  is  fed, 

No  cheering  board  with  plenty  drest. 

Oh,  haste  to  seek  and  save  the  lost, 
Raise  the  warm  prayer  to  Him  above, 

So  Winter  with  its  links  of  frost, 
Shall  bind  thee  to  a  God  of  love. 

FalPn  are  the  flowers  that  deck'd  our  path, 
The  birds  of  summer-song  are  fled, 

And  'neath  the  bitter  tempest's  wrath, 
The  groves  lie  desolate  and  dead. 

From  my  lov'd  plants,  now  icy  cold, 
I  hear  a  voice  of  warning  gloom, 

"  In  us  the  mournful  fate  behold, 
That  darkly  waits  on  youthful  bloom." 

But  when  those  charms  so  bright  and  frail, 
Must  shrink,  and  wither,  and  decay, 

Say,  is  there  naught  to  countervail, 
The  good  that  time  shall  take  away  ? 

Is  there  no  joy  to  light  the  eye, 

When  beauty,  youth,  and  health,  are  past ) 
When  all  our  earthly  pleasures  fly, 

Like  leaves  before  the  wintry  blast  1 

There  is  a  joy  that  checks  the  throng, 
Of  chilling  care,  and  sorrow's  shock, 

That  strikes  n  n  anchor  deep  and  strong, 
In  Heaven's  imperishable  rock. 


ON  THE  ADMISSION  OF  MICHIGAN  INTO  THE  UNION.  211 

Grant  me  this  joy,  and  when  my  soul, 
Her  farewell  to  the  world  shall  sigh, 
When  unknown  seas  around  me  roll, 
'      And  toss  their  deathful  billows  high, 

When  to  yon  wintry  hills  afar, 

To  all  of  earth,  these  eyes  are  dim, 

The  lustre  of  my  Saviour's  star, 
Shall  clearly  mark  my  way  to  Him. 


ON  THE    ADMISSION  OF    MICHIGAN    INTO 
THE   UNION. 

Come  in,  little  sister,  so  healthful  and  fair, 
Come  take  in  our  father's  best  parlour  a  share, 
You've  been  long  enough  at  the  nurse's,  I  trow, 
Where  the  angry  lakes  roar,  and  the  northern  winds 

blow; 
Come  in,  we've  a  pretty  large  household,  'tis  true, 
But  the  twenty-five  children  can  make  room  for  you. 

A  present,  I  see,  for  our  sire  you  have  brought, 
His  dessert  to  embellish,  how  kind  was  the  thought ; 
A  treat  of  ripe  berries,  both  crimson  and  blue, 
And  wild  flowers  to  stick  in  his  button-hole  too, 
The  rose  from  your  prairie,  the  nuts  from  your  tree, 
What  a  good  little  sister,  come  hither  to  me. 

You've  a  dowry  besides,  very  cunningly  stor'd, 
To  fill  a  nice  cupboard,  or  spread  a  broad  board, 


212  the  boy's  book. 

Detroit,  Ypsilanti,  Ann  Arbour,  and  more, 
For  the  youngest,  methinks,  quite  a  plentiful  store, 
You're  a  prog,  I  perceive,  it  is  true  to  the  letter, 
And  your  sharp  Yankee  sisters  will  like  you  the  better. 

But  where  are  your  Indians,  so  feeble  and  few  1 
So  fall'n  from  the  heights  where  their  forefather's 

grew? 
From  the  forests  they  fade,  o'er  the  waters  that  bore, 
The  names  of  their  baptism,  they  venture  no  more. 
O  soothe  their  sad  hearts,  ere  they  vanish  afar, 
Nor  quench  the  faint  beam  of  their  westering  star. 

Those  ladies  who  sit  on  the  sofa  so  high, 

Are  the  stateliest  dames  of  our  family, 

Your  thirteen  old  sisters,  don't  treat  them  with  scorn, 

They  were  notable  spinsters  before  you  was  born, 

Many  stories  they  know,  most  instructive  to  hear, 

Go,  make  them  a  curtsey,  'twill  please  them  my  dear. 

They  can  teach  you  the  names  of  those  great  ones  to 

spell, 
Who  stood  at  the  helm,  when  the  war-tempest  fell, 
They  will  show  you  the  writing,  that  gleam'd  to  the 

sky, 
In  the  year  seventy-six,  on  the  fourth  of  July  ; 
When  the  flash  of  the  Bunker-Hill  flame  was  red, 
And  the  blood  gush'd  forth  from  the  breast  of  the  dead. 

There  are  some  who  may  call  them  both  proud  and  old, 
And  say  they  usurp  what  they  cannot  hold  ; 
Perhaps,  their  bright  locks  have  a  sprinkle  of  grey, 
But  then,  little  Michy,  don't  hint  it,  I  pray  ; 
For  they'll  give  you  a  frown,  or  a  box  on  the  ear, 
Or  send  you  to  stand  in  the  corner,  I  fear. 


THE  STORM  AT   SEA.  213 

They,  indeed,  bore  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day, 
But  you've  as  good  right  to  your  penny  as  they  ; 
Though  the  price  of  our  freedom,  they  better  have 

i  known, 

Since  they  paid  for  it,  out  of  their  purses  alone, 
Yet  a  portion  belongs  to  the  youngest,  I  ween, 
So,  hold  up  your  head  with  the  "  Old  Thirteen." 


THE  STORM  AT  SEA. 

The  good  ship  o'er  the  Ocean 
Glides  on,  while  skies  are  bright, 

And  rolling  waves,  right  merrily 
Propel  her  homeward  flight. 

But  clouds  and  angry  tempests, 

Rush  from  their  prison  cell, 
The  rocky  coast  frowns  dark  and  dread, 

The  wintry  surges  swell. 

*Tis  night. — Amid  the  breakers, 

The  headlong  vessel  goes, 
And  groaning,  like  a  wounded  man 

Strives  with  its  vengeful  foes. 

Pale  grows  the  boldest  mariner, 
For  scarce  the  trumpet's  cry, 

Is  heard  amid  contending  bla'sts 
That  shake  the  astonish'd  sky. 


214  the  boy's  book. 

How  fearful  is  the  tumult, 
The  cry,  the  shriek,  the  prayer, 

Are  mingled  with  the  deaf'ning  storm, 
In  echoes  of  despair. 

But  in  the  lonely  cabin 

Rock'd  by  the  raging  sea, 
There  calmly  sat  a  beauteous  boy, 

Upon  his  mother's  knee  ; 

He  sang  a  hymn  of  heaven, 
Then  spoke  so  sweetly  mild, 

"  The  Bible  saith  our  Saviour  dear 
Doth  love  the  little  child, — 

It  telleth  of  a  happy  home, 

Above  the  stormy  sky, 
Mother  ! — He'll  take  us  there  to  dwell 

We're  not  afraid  to  die." 

His  smile  was  pure  and  peaceful, 
As  the  pearl  beneath  the  deep, — 

When  the  booming  battle-thunders 
Across  its  bosom  sweep. 

Hoarse  came  the  words  of  horror 

From  men  of  sinful  life, 
While  innocence,  with  soul  serene 

Beheld  the  appalling  strife. 

Morn  !  Morn  ! — The  clouds  are  breaking, 
The  tempest's  wrath  is  o'er, 

The  shatter'd  bark  moves  heavily 
To  reach  the  welcome  shore. 


HON.   STEPHEN    VAN  RENSSELAER.  215 

Hush'd  is  the  voice  of  thunder, 
And  quell'd  the  lightning's  flame, 

For  prayer  had  touch'd  the  gate  of  Heaven, 
And  answer'ng  mercy  came. 


HON.  STEPHEN  VAN  RENSSELAER. 

Stephen  Van  Rensselaer,  was  born  in  the  city 
of  New  York,  on  the  first  day  of  November,  1764. 
He  inherited  an  estate,  or  manor,  anciently  pur- 
chased of  the  Indians,  by  the  Dutch  government, 
afterwards  confirmed  by  the  charters  of  two  Eng- 
lish sovereigns,  and  retained  in  his  family  for  five 
generations.  Its  original  colonial  extent,  was  forty- 
eight  miles  in  length  and  twenty-four,  in  breadth, 
divided  centrally,  by  the  waters  of  the  majestic 
Hudson. 

With  this  inheritance,  was  connected  the  title  of 
"Patroon,"  a  word  derived  from  the  Latin  Palronus, 
or  Patrician,  and  signifying  in  modern  times,  the 
proprietor  of  a  large  domain,  occupied  by  tenantry, 
and  involving  peculiar  privileges.  But  by  our  revo- 
lution, the  degree  of  jurisdiction  formerly  belonging 
to  it,  was  made  to  conform  in  all  respects  to  the  na- 
ture of  a  republic  ;  so  that  it  has  since  implied  only 
the  possession  of  a  vast  estate,  without  any  of  those 
baronial  powers,  which  two  hundred  years  since, 
belonged  to  the  patroons,  or  lords  of  the  manor,  of 
Rensselaerwyck. 


216  the  boy's  book. 

The  subject  of  this  sketch,  always  rejoiced  in  that 
change  of  government,  which,  though  it  stripped 
him  of  those  distinctions  of  high  rank,  to  which  he 
was  born,  elevated  a  whole  nation  to  the  blessings  of 
freedom.  His  disinterestedness  led  him  to  rejoice  in 
the  good  of  others,  and  instead  of  clinging  to  any 
vestige  of  aristocracy,  he  v/as  an  advocate,  and  ex- 
ample of  republican  plainness  and  simplicity. 

Being  deprived  of  his  father,  at  the  age  of  four 
years,  the  formation  of  his  character  devolved  on  his 
mother,  a  lady  of  uncommon  talents  and  piety.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  the  Hon.  Philip  Livingston,  one 
of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
On  her  second  marriage,  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Westerlo, 
of  Albany,  the  young  Patroon,  then  ten  years  of  age, 
"became  a  resident  of  that  city,  and  profited  by  the 
kind  regard,  and  christian  example,  of  that  good 
divine. 

But  especially  was  he  indebted  to  his  maternal 
guide,  for  the  hallowed  precepts  which  were  early 
incorporated  with  his  character.  She  impressed  on 
him  those  stated  habits  of  devotion,  which  he  pre- 
served unimpaired  through  life.  She  induced  him 
in  childhood,  to  read  religious  books ;  and  not  long 
before  his  death,  when  recounting  his  obligations  to 
her,  he  blessed  God  with  tears,  for  her  care  over  him, 
in  this  respect ;  mentioning  among  the  volumes 
placed  by  her  in  his  hands,  Baxter's  Saint's  Rest,  as 
one  which  had  promoted  his  progress  in  piety. 

His  love  for  his  mother  was  ardent,  and  he  ever 
spoke  of  her  instructions  with  gratitude.  So  precious 
did  he  consider  every  memorial  of  her,  that  a  man- 
ual of  devotion,  which  she  had  taught  him  to  employ 


HON.    STEPHEN  VAN   RENSSELEAR.  217 

in  his  boyhood,  he  continued  to  use  till  his  dying 
day,  valuing  the  worn  copy  on  which  her  hand  had 
rested,  more  than  the  most  splendid  volumes.  The 
mourning-ring,  enclosing  her  hair,  he  wore  constant- 
ly on  his  finger,  after  her  death,  and  directed  that  it 
should  be  buried  with  him. 

When  old  enough  to  prepare  for  college,  he  was 
placed  under  the  care  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Witherspoon, 
of  Princeton,  New-Jersey,  performing  the  journey 
from  Albany  thither,  on  horseback.  After  two  years 
of  study,  he  entered  Nassau  Hall,  but  as  that  part 
of  New  Jersey  was  involved  in  the  struggles  of  war, 
he  removed  to  the  University  of  Cambridge,  Massa- 
chusetts, where  he  was  graduated  with  honour,  at  the 
age  of  eighteen. 

He  was  early  elected  to  the  legislature,  and  to  the 
senate  of  New  York ;  to  the  convention  appointed 
to  consider  and  revise  the  constitution  ;  and  to  the 
office  of  Lieutenant-Governor.  He  occupied  a  seat 
in  Congress,  for  several  years,  where  his  clear  judg- 
ment, and  incorruptible  principles  won  for  him  uni- 
versal respect. 

He  was  ardent  and  active  in  every  important  ef- 
fort to  develop  the  rich  resources  of  his  native 
state ;  and  held  the  offices  of  President  of  the  Canal 
Board,  and  Chancellor  of  the  University  of  New 
York.  Though  proverbially  in  his  temper  and 
habits,  a  man  of  peace,  yet  when  required  by  his 
station,  in  the  last  war  with  Great  Britain,  to  com- 
mand on  the  Niagara  frontier,  he  subjected  his  feel- 
ings to  his  duty,  and  with  true  patriotism,  was  faith- 
ful in  all  things. 

The  integrity  and  lofty  principle  displayed  in  his 


218  the  boy's  book. 

high  public  stations,  was  not  surpassed  by  the 
beauty  of  his  character  in  private  life.  His  first 
wife  was  the  daughter  of  Gen.  Philip  Schuyler,  so 
well  known  in  the  history  of  our  revolution.  His 
second  wife  was  the  daughter  of  the  Hon.  William 
Patterson,  of  New  Jersey,  one  of  the  Judges  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.  He  was  emi- 
nently happy  in  his  domestic  connections,  and  was 
the  father  of  a  numerous  family.  Ten  children  sur- 
vive him,  bearing  witness  to  his  untiring  efforts  for 
their  good,  both  temporal  and  eternal. 

Amiable  affections  in  the  most  intimate  relations 
of  life,  and  benignity  of  disposition  towards  all 
with  whom  he  associated,  were  striking  traits  in  his 
character.  He  loved  the  young,  and  delighted  to 
make  them  happy  ;  not  happy  through  improper 
indulgence,  but  in  the  paths  of  cheerful  duty. 

Surrounded  by  almost  princely  affluence,  he  es- 
caped the  dangers  which  it  too  often  brings.  Self- 
ishness and  haughtiness,  had  in  him  no  place.  Per- 
fectly simple  and  unostentatious  in  his  manners,  he 
regarded  the  feelings  of  the  poorest  and  most  ob- 
scure. An  instinctive  delicacy  guided  him  in  the 
bestowment  of  his  gifts,  and  humility  was  the  gar- 
ment in  which  all  his  virtues  arrayed  themselves. 

His  mind  was  of  quick  perception,  and  endued 
with  that  clear  good  sense,  which  is  a  safer  guide 
amid  the  conflicting  interests  of  mankind,  than  the 
most  brilliant  imagination.  Though  his  mildness 
of  temper  led  him  to  avoid  contention,  yet  he  was 
firm  in  maintaining  just  opinions,  and  the  purity  of 
his  motives  was  never  questioned. 

Convinced  df  the  importance  of  agriculture,  with 


HON.   STEPHEN   VAN   RENSSELAER.  219 

its  habits  of  industry,  and  morality,  to  the  welfare 
of  a  republic,  he  did  all  in  his  power,  to  encourage 
and  bring  it  into  respect.  Immediately  after  re- 
ceiving his  patrimony,  by  letting  out  his  lands  to  far- 
mers, on  very  easy  terms,  he  succeeded  in  bringing 
almost  the  whole  counties  of  Albany  and  Rensselaer, 
into  cultivation. 

Though  the  low  rents,  thus  early  established, 
caused  the  income  from  his  lands  not  to  exceed  two, 
and  sometimes  one  per  cent,  on  a  very  moderate 
estimate  of  their  value,  still  as  this  was  more  than 
sufficient  for  his  expenses,  and  his  very  liberal  chari- 
ties, he  did  not  attempt  to  increase  the  amount  de- 
rived from  his  tenants.  While  wealth  is  an  object 
of  such  restless,  and  often  sinful  pursuit,  how  beau- 
tiful the  example  of  a  man  rising  superior  to  the 
grasping  love  of  gain,  and  seeking  nobler  pleasures 
than  those  of  accumulation. 

His  regard  for  the  interests  of  education,  proved 
him  a  true  patriot,  and  philanthropist.  The  extent 
of  his  liberality,  in  diffusing  the  blessings  of  knowl- 
edge, it  is  impossible  to  compute,  for  he  ever  strove, 
according  to  the  rule  of  the  Gospel,  to  connect  his 
bounties  with  secrecy.  Yet  all  these  sacred  charities 
could  not  be  concealed.  The  many  young  men, 
who  were  indebted  to  him  for  their  education,  re- 
member to  speak  of  their  benefactor. 

He  was  long  accustomed  to  send  school-masters 
among  the  poorer  portions  of  his  tenantry,  as  if 
they  had  been  his  own  family.  Perceiving  it  to  be 
desirable  that  the  qualifications  of  teachers  should 
be  increased,  he  determined  to  found  an  institution 
which  should  impart  instruction  in  the  sciences,  as 


220  the  boy's  book. 

they  are  applicable   to  the  business  of  common 
life. 

He  proceeded  in  1824,  to  the  organization  of  what 
is  now  known  as  the  "  Rensselaer  Institute,"  provid- 
ed a  suitable  building,  a  library,  an  apparatus,  and 
endowed  the  professorships  with  liberal  salaries. 
Not  content  with  the  yearly  expenditure  of  large 
sums,  in  this  school,  he  invited  each  county  in  the 
State  of  New  York,  to  send  him  one  student  to  in- 
struct ;  and  in  the  course  of  three  years,  this  large 
number  of  persons,  went  forth,  with  a  complete 
practical  education,  the  priceless  gift  of  their  patron. 
During  the  fourteen  years,  since  this  institute  was 
established,  numbers  of  teachers,  have  been  there 
fitted,  to  confer  benefits  on  the  community.  Many 
of  these,  have  entered  the  active  departments  of 
science,  as  geologists,  engineers,  chemists  and  natu- 
ralists. Had  Mr.  Van  Rensselaer  performed  no 
other  act  of  munificence,  this  alone,  would  entitle 
him  to  a  high  rank  among  the  benefactors  of  man- 
kind. 

His  general  benevolence  was  proverbial.  From 
its  fountain  in  his  own  heart,  it  flowed  forth,  con- 
tinually enlarging  its  circle,  until  it  embraced  the 
whole  of  the  human  family,  whom  it  was  in  his 
power  to  aid.  The  humblest  sufferer  within  the 
range  of  his  walks,  as  well  as  the  institutions  of 
learning  throughout  the  land,  churches  and  charita- 
ble societies  of  every  denomination,  and  the  benighted 
heathen  of  another  hemisphere,  all  participated  in 
his  bounty. 

He  sought  in  his  alms-giving,  not  to  be  seen,  or 
praised  of  men.    Yet  to  the  close  of  life,  his  liber- 


HON.   STEPHEN   VAN  RENSSELAER.  221 

ality  knew  no  limit.  Just  before  his  decease,  he 
summoned  his  agent  to  his  chamber,  and  remarking 
on  the  severity  of  the  winter,  bade  him  go,  and 
search  out  all  who  were  in  want,  and  give  them 
what  they  might  need. 

He  held  his  ample  fortune,  as  in  stewardship  for 
his  Divine  Master,  taking  his  own  share  with  great 
moderation,  and  indulging  in  no  luxury  save  that  of 
doing  good.  It  must  be  evident  that  such  a  charac- 
ter, could  not  be  formed,  without  the  aid  of  piety. 
This  was  at  once  its  foundation,  and  its  crown. 

He  early  turned  aside  from  the  allurements  of  the 
world,  and  made  a  profession  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion. For  more  than  half  a  century,  its  saintly 
spirit  shone  forth  in  his  life  and  conversation,  and 
in  the  strict  performance  of  all  its  enjoined  duties. 
He  was  a  regular  and  serious  student  of  the 
Sacred  Volume.  He  could  adopt  the  expression  of 
the  Psalmist,  "  Thy  Word  have  I  hid  in  my  heart, 
that  I  might  not  sin  against  thee." 

It  was  his  custom  to  read  the  Bible  through,  once 
every  year.  Even  to  the  latest  period  of  his  life,  he 
spent  an  hour  or  more,  every  morning,  in  its  peru- 
sal; and  in  the  winter,  rose  so  early  as  to  study  its 
pages  by  candle-light.  Many  parts  of  it  were  im- 
pressed on  his  memory,  and  in  the  chamber  of  lan- 
guor and  decline,  it  was  his  constant  companion. 

He  led  a  life  of  prayer.  He  retired  three  times  a 
day,  for  secret  communion  with  his  Father  in  Hea- 
ven. With  his  family,  he  performed  a  daily  service 
of  humble  and  solemn  devotion.  This  prayerful 
spirit,  sustained  and  guided  him,  in  all  the  duties  and 
changes  of  life. 


222  the  boy's  book. 

He  cherished  deep  reverence  for  the  Sabbath,  and 
strove  by  his  faithful  instructions,  to  impress  it  on 
his  household.  Before  the  public  services,  all  were 
called  to  read  the  Scriptures,  and  after  church, 
which  he  punctually  attended,  his  children  were  re- 
quired to  repeat  to  him,  the  commandments,  the 
catechism,  and  such  hymns  as  they  had  committed  to 
memory. 

"How  much  cause  for  gratitude,"  writes  one  of 
his  sons,  "is  there,  in  having  so  long  enjoyed  the 
kind  counsel,  and  sweet  society  of  such  a  father. 
The  separation  is  painful,  beyond  the  power  of  lan- 
guage to  express.  But  it  is  consoling  to  reflect,  that 
the  change  was  most  happy  for  him.  It  may  with 
truth  be  said  of  him,  'Mark  the  perfect  man  and 
behold  the  upright ;  for  the  end  of  that  man  is 
peace.' " 

His  death  was  most  tranquil  and  happy.  Sickness 
had  given  him  warning,  so  that  he  stood  ready  for 
the  call  of  his  Lord.  On  the  morning  of  the  last 
day  of  his  life,  he  read  in  a  devotional  book,  a  medi- 
tation on  death,  and  marked  in  his  Bible,  that  pas- 
sage so  beautifully  descriptive  of  heaven,  "the  in- 
habitant shall  no  more  say,  I  am  sick." 

Probably  he  thought  not  then,  that  he  was  so  near 
entering  into  his  rest,  as  his  health  had  for  some 
time  appeared  better.  But  suddenly,  he  was  sum- 
moned, and  so  gentle  was  the  flight  of  his  spirit, 
that  the  eyes  of  watching  love  which  were  bent  up- 
on him,  knew  not  the  moment  when  it  was  disen- 
gaged from  clay.  He  died  on  Saturday,  January 
26th,  1839,  in  the  seventy-fifth  year  of  his  age. 

"  Tt  was  on  four  o'clock  of  the  afternoon,  of  tbfl* 


HON.   STEPHEN   VAN    EENSSELAEK.  223 

day,"  says  one  of  his  eloquent  biographers,  "a 
day  which  had  dawned  with  as  fair  a  promise  of 
closing  on  him  in  life,  as  any,  perhaps,  which  he  had 
seen  for  the  last  two  years,  that  in  a  small  cabinet  of 
his  ample  mansion,  which  his  infirmities  had  made 
his  chief  asylum,  and  sanctuary  for  many  months, 
sitting  in  his  chair,  with  just  warning  enough  to  con- 
vey the  intimation  to  his  own  mind,  that  his  hour 
had  come,  without  enough  of  previous  change  seri- 
ously to  alarm  the  fears  of  anxious,  watchful  and 
trembling  hearts  around  him,  the  venerable  iron 
bowed  his  head  and  died." 

It  has  been  said  that  to  bear  prosperity  unhurt,  is 
far  greater  merit  than  to  struggle  with  adverse  for- 
tune. Yet  here  we  have  the  example  of  one,  cradled 
in  affluence,  living  always  in  the  smile  of  the  world, 
still  untouched  by  the  pride  of  wealth,  humble,  un- 
assuming, unrelaxed  in  moral  discipline,  exhibiting 
every  public  and  private  virtue,  with  "simplicity 
and  godly  sincerity." 

In  this  beautifully  consistent  character,  let  the 
young  see  the  power  of  religion.  For  it  was  this 
which  preserved  him  amid  all  the  temptations  of 
prosperity,  in  the  "  meekness  of  wisdom."  It  was 
this  which  prompted  him  to  make  his  great  wealth 
the  instrument  of  extended  benevolence,  girded  him 
to  walk  in  the  paths  of  honour,  with  a  stainless 
name,  and  strengthened  him  to  resign  the  joys  of 
™.rth,  with  the  clear  hope  of  a  blessed  immortality. 


224  the  boy's  book. 


NEW-YEAR'S  MORNING. 

Wake,  dear  ones,  'tis  the  New- Year's  morn, 
And  many  a  wish  for  you  is  born, 
And  many  a  prayer,  of  spirit  true 
Breaks  from  paternal  lips  for  you. 

No  more  the  vales  with  daisies  glow, 
The  violets  sleep,  beneath  the  snow, 
The  rose  her  radiant  robes  doth  fold 
And  hides  her  buds  from  winter's  cold. 

But  Spring,  with  gentle  smile  shall  call 
Up  from  their  beds,  those  slumberers  all 
Fresh  verdure  o'er  your  path  shall  swell, 
The  brook  its  tuneful  story  tell, 
And  graceful  flowers,  with  varied  bloom, 
Again  your  garden's  bound  perfume. 

Ye  are  our  buds ;  and  in  your  breast 
The  promise  of  our  hope  doth  rest. 

When  knowledge,  like  the  breath  of  Spring, 

Shall  wake  your  minds  to  blossoming, 

May  their  unfolding  germs  disclose, 

More  than  the  fragrance  of  the  rose, 

More  than  the  brightness  of  the  stream 

That  through  green  shades,  with  sparkling  gleam 

In  peace  and  purity  doth  glide 

On  to  the  Ocean's  mighty  tide. 


THE   CHAIR   OF   UNCAS.  225 

The  country  too,  which  gave  you  birth, 
That  freest,  happiest  clime  on  earth, 
To  all,  to  each,  with  fervour  cries, 
"  Oh  for  my  sake,  be  good,  be  wise, 
Seek  knowledge,  and  with  studious  pain, 
Resolve,  her  priceless  gold  to  gain. 

Shun  the  strong  cup,  whose  poisonous  tide 
To  ruin's  dark  abyss,  doth  guide, 
And  with  the  sons  of  virtue  stand, 
The  bulwark  of  your  native  land. 

Me  would  you  serve  1    This  day  begin 
The  fear  of  God,  the  dread  of  sin  ; 
Love,  for  instruction's  watchful  care, 
The  patient  task,  the  nightly  prayer  ; 
So  shall  you  glitter  as  a  gem, 
Bound  in  my  brightest  diadem." 


THE  CHAIR  OF  UNCAS. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  Mohegan,  Connecticut,  is  a  rude  recess,  and  a 
rocky  seat,  still  bearing  the  name  of  the  Chair  of  Uncas,  where  that 
king  sat,  when  his  fort  was  besieged  by  the  Narragansetts,  anxiously 
watching  the  river  for  the  supplies  of  food,  which  the  whites  had  pro- 
mised to  send  to  his  famishing  people.  They  at  length  arrived,  in  a 
large  canoe,  under  the  covert  of  midnight,  and  saved  his  tribe  from 
perishing  by  famine. 

The  monarch  sat  on  his  rocky  throne, 

Beneath  him  the  waters  lay, 
His  guards  were  the  shapeless  columns  of  stone, 
Their  lofty  helmets  with  moss  o'ergrown, 

And  their  spears  of  the  bracken  grey. 


226  the  boy's  book. 

His  lamps  were  the  fickle  stars  that  beam'd, 

Through  the  vale  of  their  midnight  shroud, 
And  the  redd'ning  flashes  that  fitfully  gleam'd, 
When  the  distant  fires  of  the  war-dance  stream'd, 
Where  his  foes  in  frantic  revel  scream'd, 
'Neath  their  canopy  of  cloud. 

Say  !  why  was  his  glance  so  restless  and  keen, 

As  it  fell  on  the  waveless  tide  ] 
And  why,  'mid  the  gloom  of  that  silent  scene, 
Did  the  sigh  heave  his  warlike  bosom's  screen, 

And  bow  that  front  of  pride  1 

Behind  him  his  leaguer'd  forces  lay, 

Withering  in  famine's  blight, 
And  he  knew  with  the  blush  of  the  morning  ray, 
That  Philip  would  summon  his  fierce  array, 
On  the  core  of  the  warrior's  heart  to  prey, 

And  quench  a  nation's  light. 

It  comes  !  It  comes !  that  misty  speck, 

Which  over  the  waters  moves  ! 
It  boasts  not  sail,  nor  mast,  nor  deck, 
Yet  dearer  to  him  was  that  noteless  wreck, 

Than  the  maid  to  him  who  loves. 

It  bears  to  the  warrior's  nerveless  arm, 

The  might  of  a  victor's  aim, 
Its  freight  is  a  spell  whose  mystic  charm, 
Shall  protect  the  tottering  sire  from  harm, 
And  the  helpless  babe,  whose  life-blood  warm, 

Was  to  hiss  in  the  wigwams  flame. 


THE  CROP  OF  ACOKNS.  227 

The  eye  of  the  king  with  that  lightning  blaz'd, 

Which  the  soul  in  its  rapture  sends  ; 
His  prayer  to  the  Spirit  of  God  he  rais'd, 
And  the  shades  of  his  buried  fathers  prais'd, 

As  toward  his  fort  he  wends. 

That  king  hath  gone  to  his  lowly  grave ! 

He  slumbers  in  dark  decay  ; 
And  like  the  crest  of  the  tossing  wave, 
Like  the  rush  of  the  blast  from  the  mountain  cave 
Like  the  groan  of  the  murder'd,  with  none  to  save, 

His  people  have  pass'd  away. 

The  king  is  gone !  but  his  chair  of  stone, 

Still  rests  on  its  rugged  base, 
Around  it  the  thorn-tree,  and  thicket  have  grown, 
And  n  one  save  the  blasts  thro'  their  branches  that  moan, 

Sigh  over  his  fallen  race. 


THE  CROP  OF  ACORNS. 

There  came  a  man,  in  days  of  old, 
To  hire  a  piece  of  land,  for  gold, 
And  urg'd  his  suit  in  accents  meek, 
"  One  crop  alone,  is  all  I  seek, 
That  harvest  o'er,  my  claim  I  yield, 
And  back  to  you  resign  the  field." 

The  owner,  some  misgiving  felt, 
And  coldly  with  the  stranger  dealt, 


228  the  boy's  book. 

But  found  at  length  his  reasons  fail, 
And  honied  eloquence  prevail, 
So  took  the  proffer'd  price  in  hand, 
And  for  one  crop,  leas'd  out  the  land. 

The  wily  tenant  sneer'd  with  pride, 

And  sow'd  the  soil  with  acorns  wide, 

At  first,  like  tiny  shoots  they  grew, 

Then  broad  and  wide,  their  branches  threw, 

But  long  before  those  oaks  sublime 

Aspiring  reach'd  their  forest  prime, 

The  cheated  landlord  mould'ring  lay 

Forgotten  with  his  kindred  clay. 

Oh  ye,  whose  years  unfolding  fair, 

Are  fresh  with  youth  and  free  from  care, 

Should  vice  or  indolence  desire 

The  garden  of  your  soul  to  hire, 

No  parley  hold, — reject  their  suit, 

Nor  let  one  seed  the  soil  pollute. 

My  son,  their  first  approach  beware, 
With  firmness  break  the  insidious  snare, 
Lest,  as  the  acorns  grew  and  throve 
Into  a  sun-excluding  grove, 
Thy  sins,  a  dark,  o'ershadowing  tree, 
Shut  out  the  light  of  heaven  from  thee. 


THE  DOVES. 


THE  DOVES. 


A  sea-king  on  the  Danish  shore, 

When  the  old  time  went  by, 
Launch'd  his  rude  ship  for  reckless  deeds, 

Beneath  a  foreign  sky. 

And  oft  on  Albion's  richer  coast, 

Where  Saxon  Harold  reign'd, 
With  a  fierce  foe's  marauding  hate, 

Wild  warfare  he  maintain'd. 

From  hamlet-nook,  and  humble  vale, 

Their  wealth  he  reft  away, 
And  shamed  not  with  his  blood-red  steel, 

To  wake  the  deadly  fray. 

But  once,  within  an  islet's  bay, 
While  summer-twilight  spread, 

A  curtain  o'er  the  glorious  sun, 
Who  sank  to  ocean's  bed, 

He  paus'd  amid  his  savage  trade, 

And  gaz'd  on  earth  and  sea, 
While  o'er  his  head  a  nest  of  doves, 

Hung  in  a  linden  tree. 

They  coo'd  and  murmur'd  o'er  their  young} 

A  loving,  mournful  strain, 
And  still  the  chirping  brood  essay'd, 

The  same  soft  tones  again. 
20 


THE   BOY  S   BOOK. 

The  sea-king  on  the  rocky  beach, 

Bow'd  down  his  head  to  hear, 
Yet  started  on  his  iron  brow, 

To  feel  a  trickling  tear. 

He  mus'd  upon  his  lonely  home, 

Beyond  the  foaming  main. 
For  nature  kindled  in  his  breast, 

At  that  fond  dovelet's  strain. 

He  listen'd  till  the  lay  declin'd, 

As  slumber  o'er  them  stole,    ' 
"  Home,  home,  sweet  home .'"  methought  they  sang  j 

It  enter'd  to  his  soul. 

He  linger'd  till  the  moon  came  forth, 

With  radiance  pure  and  pale, 
And  then  his  hardy  crew  he  rous'd, 

"  Up  !  up  !  and  spread  the  sail." 

"  Now,  whither  goest  thou,  master  bold  V 

No  word  the  sea-king  spake, 
But  at  the  helm  all  night  he  stood, 

Till  ruddy  morn  did  break. 

"  See,  captain,  yon  unguarded  isle  ! 

Those  cattle  are  our  prey  ;'* 
Dark  grew  their  brows,  and  fierce  their  speech : 

No  word  he  deign'd  to  say. 

Right  onward,  o'er  the  swelling  wave, 

With  steady  prow  he  bore, 
Nor  stay'd  until  he  anchor'd  fast, 

By  Denmark's  wave-wash'd  shore ; 


231 


THE   DOVES. 

"Farewell,  farewell,  brave  men  and  true, 

Well  have  you  serv'd  my  need  ; 
Divide  the  spoils  as  best  ye  may, 

Rich  boon  for  daring  deed." 

He  shook  them  by  the  harden'd  hand, 

And  on  his  journey  sped, 
Nor  linger'd  till  through  shades  he  saw, 

His  long-forsaken  shed. 

Forth  came  the  babe,  that  when  he  left, 

Lay  on  its  mother's  knee ; 
She  rais'd  a  stranger's  wondering  cry — 

A  fair-hair'd  girl  was  she. 

His  far-off  voice  that  mother  knew, 

And  shriek'd  in  speechless  joy, 
While,  proudly,  toward  his  arms  she  drew 

His  bashful,  stripling  boy. 

They  bade  the  fire  of  pine  burn  bright, 

The  simple  board  they  spread  ; 
And  bless'd  and  welcom'd  him  as  one, 

Returning  from  the  dead. 

He  cleans'd  him  of  the  pirate's  sin, 

He  donn'd  the  peasant's  stole, 
And  nightly  from  his  labours  came, 

With  music  in  his  soul. 

"  Father !  what  mean  those  words  you  speak, 

Oft  in  your  broken  sleep  1 
The  doves  1  the  doves !  you  murmuring  cry, 

And  then  in  dreams  you  weep : 


232  the  boy's  book. 

"  Father,  you've  told  us  many  a  tale, 
Of  storm,  and  battle  wild — 

Tell  us  the  story  of  the  doves," 
The  peasant-father  smil'd : 

"  Go,  daughter,  lure  a  dove  to  build 

Her  nest  in  yonder  tree, 
And  thou  shalt  hear  the  tender  tone, 

That  lured  me  back  to  thee." 


THE    WAR-SPIRIT. 


War-spirit  !  War-spirit !  how  gorgeous  thy  path, 
Pale  earth  shrinks  with  fear  from  thy  chariot  of  wrath, 
The  king  at  thy  beckoning  comes  down  from  his 

throne, 
To  the  conflict  of  fate  the  armed  nations  rush  on, 
With  the  trampling  of  steeds,  and  the  trumpets,  wild 

cry, 
While  the  folds  of  their  banners  gleam  bright  o'er 

the  sky. 

Thy  glories  are  sought,  till  the  life-throb  is  o'er, 
Thy  laurels  pursued,  though  they  blossom  in  gore, 
Mid  the  ruins  of  columns  and  temples  sublime, 
The  arch  of  the  hero  doth  grapple  with  time ; 
The  muse  o'er  thy  form  throws  her  tissue  divine, 
And  history  her  annal  emblazons  with  thine. 

War-spirit !  War-spirit !  thy  secrets  are  known, 
I  have  look'd  on  the  field  when  the  battle  was  done, 


THE   CHARTER-OAK.  233 

The  mangled  and  slain  in  their  misery  lay, 
And  the  vulture  was  shrieking  and  watching  his  prey, 
And  the  heart's  gush  of  sorrow,  how  hopeless  and  sore, 
In  those  homes  that  the  lov'd  ones  revisit  no  more. 

I  have  trac'd  out  thy  march,  by  its  features  of  pain, 
While  famine  and  pestilence  stalk'd  in  thy  train 
And  the  trophies  of  sin  did  thy  victory  swell, 
And  thy  breath  on  the  soul,  was  the  plague-spot  of 

hell ;  ' 
Death  laudeth  thy  deeds,  and  in  letters  of  flame, 
The  realm  of  perdition  engraveth  thy  name. 

War-spirit !  War-spirit !  go  down  to  thy  place, 
With  the  demons  that  thrive  on  the  woe  of  our  race ; 
Call  back  thy  strong  legions  of  madness  and  pride, 
Bid  the  rivers  of  blood  thou  hast  open'd  be  dried — 
Let  thy  league  with  the  grave  and  Aceldama  cease, 
And  yield  the  torn  world  to  the  Angel  of  Peace. 


THE  CHARTER-OAK. 


When  king  James  Second,  sent  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  with  a  guard  of 
armed  men,  in  the  year  1637,  to  Hartford,  to  demand  the  charter  of  Con- 
necticut, it  was  secretly  conveyed  away,  and  hid  in  the  hollow  trunk  of 
an  ancient  oak,  which  has  since  been  known  by  the  name  of  the  "  Char- 
ter-oak," and  still  survives  in  a  vigorous  old  age. 

Charter  Oak,  Charter  Oak, 

Tell  us  a  tale, 
Of  the  years  that  have  fled, 

Like  the  leaves  on  the  gale. 


234  the  boy's  book. 

For  thou  bear'st  a  brave  annal, 
On  brown  root  and  stem, 

And  thy  heart  was  a  casket, 
For  liberty's  gem. 

Speak  out,  in  thy  wisdom, 

Oracular  tree, 
And  we,  and  our  children, 

Will  listen  to  thee, 

For  the  lore  of  the  aged, 

Is  dear  in  our  eyes, 
And  thy  leaves  and  thine  acorns, 

As  relics  we  prize. 

I  see  them,  they  come, 
The  dim  ages  of  old, 

The  sires  of  our  nations, 
True-hearted  and  bold. 

The  axe  of  the  woodman, 

Rings  sharp  through  the  glade, 

And  the  poor  Indian  hunter, 
Reclines  in  the  shade. 

I  see  them,  they  come, 

The  grey  fathers  are  there, 

Who  won  from  the  forest, 
This  heritage  fair. 

With  their  high  trust  in  heaven, 
When  they  suffer'd  or  toil'd, 

Both  the  tempest  and  tyrant, 
Unblenching  they  foil'd. 


DEATH   OF    AN  AGED  MAN. 

Charter-Oak,  Charier-Oak, 

Ancient  and  fair, 
Thou  didst  guard  of  our  freedom, 

The  rudiment  rare, 

So,  a  crown  of  green  leaves, 
Be  thy  gift  from  the  skies, 

With  the  love  of  the  brave, 
And  the  thanks  of  the  wise. 


DEATH  OF  AN  AGED  MAN. 

Who  knows  what  treasures  fill  a  powerful  mind, 

That  more  than  fourscore  years  hath  held  its  course 

Among  the  living  1    We,  of  yesterday, 

Scan  not  its  halls,  with  ancient  pictures  bright, 

Nor  tread  its  secret  cabinets  of  thought, 

Where  the  dim  actors  of  a  distant,  age, 

Recede  and  vanish. 

He,  who  died  to-day, 
Was  rich  in  imagery  of  other  times. 
Ye  might  have  ask'd  him,  and  he  would  have  told, 
How,  step  by  step,  his  native  place  threw  oif 
Its  rude,  colonial  feathers,  for  the  garb 
That  cities  wear ;  and  how  the  cow-path  chang'd 
To  a  thick-peopled  street,  and  the  cold  marsh, 
To  garden  beauty. 


236  the  boy's  book. 

Yes,  he  could  have  told, 
Had  ye  but  ask'd  him,  how  the  dark,  gaunt  forms, 
Of  the  poor  Indians,  glided  here  and  there, 
Neglected  strangers  in  their  fathers'  land  : 
For  many  a  story  knew  he  of  that  race, 
Now  rooted  up  and  perish'd. 

Had  ye  sat 
Down  at  his  feet,  on  some  long  summer's  day, 
He  might  have  told  you,  how  yon  stately  roofs, 
And  fair  designs  of  blessed  charity, 
Sprang  from  a  germ,  which  he  had  help'd  to  nurse 
With  prayer  and  bounteous  alms. 

Ah,  many  a  date, 
And  legend,  slumber  in  that  marble  breast, 
Which  History  coveted.    For  Memory  sat 
With  diamond  pen,  still  clearly  noting  down 
On  her  broad  tablet,  till  the  step  of  Death, 
Stole  suddenly  upon  her. 

Then  his  voice 
Bore  glorious  witness  to  the  faith  that  lives 
When  Nature  dies,  and  told  the  weeping  friend, 
How  underneath  the  Everlasting  Arms, 
Broke  the  rude  shock  of  pain. 

And  so  his  breath, 
In  one  unstruggling,  quiet  sigh  went  forth, 
For  leaning  on  the  Saviour,  he  had  lov'd, 
From  early  years,  he  found  that  Heavenly  Friend, 
In  the  last  dreadful  hour,  remember'd  him. 


DEATH   OF  AN  AGED  MAN.  237 

Here  rock'd  his  cradle,  and  here  yawns  his  grave. 
Both  ye  may  scan  at  once.    And  yet  between 
Those  neighbour-spots,  how  many  a  thorny  vale, 
And  mountain-tract  of  flinty  memories, 
His  pilgrim-feet  have  travers'd. 

Still  he  said, 
That  all  his  long-drawn,  chequer'd  path  below, 
Seem'd  as  a  bow-shot, — with  so  swift  a  flight 
The  play  of  boyhood,  and  the  flush  of  youth, 
And  manhood's  ripeness,  met  the  silver  hairs, 
That  gave  his  brow,  a  crown  of  righteousness. 

No  more  you'll  see  him,  leaning  on  his  staff 
Beside  his  pleasant  door,  or  measuring  still, 
With  slow,  yet  vigorous  step,  his  wonted  way, 
Along  the  river's  brink,  or  to  his  board, 
Guiding  the  stranger,  or  the  cherished  guest, 
With  the  old  warmth  of  hospitality. 

No  more  he  cheers  his  household  with  the  smile 
Of  tender  love,  which  the  cold  frosts  of  age 
Impair'd  not,  or  in  sweet  example  shows, 
Those  fruits,  which  mid  the  tears  and  clouds  of  time, 
Mellow'd  to  heaven's  own  hue. 

'Tis  sad  to  see 
The  fathers  of  our  city,  one  by  one, 
Thus  take  their  dwelling  with  the  silent  worm. 
We  shrink  to  fill  their  places. 

Reverend  men, 
Of  such  well-balanc'd  and  rare  energies, 
Courteous,  and  dignified,  and  true  of  heart, 
We  dread  to  find  their  high  example  gone. 
We  grieve  that  the  insatiate  grave  must  lock 
The  gold  of  their  experience. 


239  the  boy's  book. 

O'er  life's  tide 
We  steer  without  them,  by  a  varying  chart, 
Too  late  lamenting,  that  we  lightly  priz'd 
The  pilotage  of  wisdom,  while  it  dwelt 
With  hoary  head  among  us. 

Grant  us  grace, 
Father  of  all,  so  to  revere  the  words, 
Of  saintly  age,  and  so  to  keep  the  path 
Of  those  who  go  before  us  to  the  skies, 
That  shunning  snares  and  pitfalls,  we  may  come 
To  the  sure  mansions  of  eternal  life. 


THE  DOOM  OF  UZZIAH  * 

Uzziah  ruPd  God's  chosen  race, 

In  plentitude  of  power, 
And  lauded  was  his  sceptre's  sway, 

In  palace  and  in  bower. 

Fresh  fountains  in  the  desert  waste, 

Up  at  his  bidding  sprung, 
And  clust'ring  vines  o'er  Carmel's  breast, 

A  broider'd  mantle  flung. 

He  hasted  to  the  battle  field, 

In  all  his  young  renown, 
And  wild  Arabia's  swarthy  host, 

Like  blighted  grass  fell  down. 

*  2d.  Chron.  chap.  xxvi. 


THE  DOOM   OF  TTZZIAH. 

Yet,  ah  !  within  his  reckless  heart, 
The  seeds  of  pride  grew  strong, 

And  unacknowledg'd  blessings  led, 
To  arrogance  and  wrong, 

So  to  the  temple's  holy  place, 

With  impious  step  he  hied, 
And  with  a  kindling  censer  stood, 

Fast  by  the  altar's  side. 

But  he  whose  high  and  priestly  brow, 

The  anointing  oil  had  blest, 
Stood  forth  majestic  to  rebuke, 

The  sacrilegious  guest. 

"  'Tis  not  for  thee,"  he  sternly  said, 
"  To  tread  this  hallow'd  nave, 

And  take  that  honour  to  thyself, 
Which  God  to  Aaron  gave  ; 

"  'Tis  not  for  thee,  thou  mighty  king, 

O'er  Judah's  realm  ordain'd, 
To  trample  on  Jehovah's  law, 

By  whom  thy  fathers  reign'd ; 

"  Go  hence  !"  and  from  his  awful  eye, 
There  seem'd  such  ire  to  flame, 

As  mingled  with  the  thunder  blast, 
When  God  to  Sinai  came. 

Then  loud  the  reckless  monarch  storm'd, 

And  with  a  daring  hand, 
He  swung  the  sacred  censer  high, 

Above  the  trembling  band ; 


240  the  boy's  book. 

When  lo !  a  burning  sign  of  wrath, 
Did  in  his  forehead  flame, 

Behold !  the  avenging  doom  of  heaven, 
The  livid  plague-spot  came  : 

And  low  declin'd  his  princely  head, 

In  bitterness  of  woe, 
As  from  the  temple-gate  he  sped, 

A  leper  white  as  snow. 


THE   ORPHAN. 


There  was  a  church-yard,  and  an  open  grave, 
And  a  small  band  of  thoughtful  villagers 
Gather'd  around  it.    Pressing  near  its  brink, 
A  slender  boy,  of  some  few  summers  stood, 
Sole  mourner,  and  with  wild  and  watchful  eye 
Gaz'd  on  the  coffin. 

When  they  let  it  down 
Into  the  darksome  pit,  and  the  coarse  earth 
From  the  grave-digger's  shovel,  falling,  gave 
A  fearful  sound,  there  rose  a  bitter  wail 
Prolong'd  and  deep,  such  as  I  never  heard 
Come  from  a  child. 

Then  he,  who  gave  with  prayers 
The  body  to  the  dead,  when  the  last  rite 
Was  over,  paus'd  with  sympathizing  look 
Until  the  Orphan's  wildest  sobs  grew  still 
And  said, 


THE   ORPHAN.  241 

"Poor  "boy  !  your  mother  will  not  sAeep 
In  this  cold  bed,  for  ever. — No  !  as  sure 
As  the  sweet  flowers,  that  now  the  frost  hath  chill'd 
Shall  hear  the  call  of  Spring,  and  the  dry  grass 
Put  on  fresh  greenness, — she  shall  rise  again, 
And  live  a  life  of  joy." 

Bleak  autumn  winds 
Swept  thro'  the  rustling  leaves,  and  seem'd  to  chill 
The  shivering  orphan  as  he  bow'd  him  down, 
All  desolate, — to  look  into  the  grave. 
So,  from  the  group,  a  kindly  matron  came, 
And  led  him  thence. 

When  Spring  returning,  threw 
Her  trembling  colours  o'er  the  waken'd  earth, 
I  wander'd  there  again,  for  well  I  love 
At  musing  twilight,  when  rude  sounds  are  still, 
To  pay  a  silent  visit  to  the  dead. 

I  thought  myself  alone  :  but  a  light  step 

Fell  on  my  ear,  and  that  poor,  orphan  boy, 

Came  from  his  mother's  grave.    Paler  he'd  grown 

Since  last  I  saw  him,  and  his  little  feet 

With  frequent  tread,  had  worn  the  herbage  down 

Into  a  narrow  path. 

He  started  thence, 
And  would  have  fled  away.    But  when  I  said 
That  I  had  stood  beside  him,  when  they  put 
His  mother  in  the  grave,  he  nearer  drew 
Inquiring  eagerly. 

"  Then,  did  you  hear 
The  minister,  who  always  speaks  the  truth 


242  the  boy's  book. 

Say  that  she'd  rise  again  ?  that  just  as  sure 

As  Spring  renew'd  the  wither'd  grass  and  flowers* 

She'd  rise  again  and  live !" 

"  Yes,  but  not  here, 
Not  here,  will  she  return  again  to  dwell  again 
With  you  my  son  :" — 

"  This  is  the  very  spot 
Where  she  was  laid.    So  here  she'll  rise  again. 
Just  here,  they  buried  her.    I  mark'd  it  well. 
And  night  and  morning,  since  the  grass  grew  green, 
I've  come  to  watch,  and  sometimes  press'd  my  lips 
Close  to  the  place,  where  they  laid  down  her  head, 
And  call'd,  and  told  her  that  the  flowers  had  come, 
And  now  'twas  time  to  rise.    See  too,  the  seeds 
I  planted  here,  seeds  of  the  flowers'  she  lov'd, 
Break  the  brown  mould. — But  yet  she  does  not  wake 
Nor  answer  to  my  voice." 

"  She  cannot  come 
To  you  on  earth ;  but  you  shall  go  to  her." 

"  I  go  to  her!"  and  his  thin  hands  were  clasp'd 
So  close,  that  every  bone  and  sinew  seem'd 
Knit  fast  together,  "  Shall  I  go  to  her  ] 
Let  me  go  now !" 

Then,  with  a  pitying  heart, 
I  told  him  of  the  Book,  that  promiseth 
A  resurrection,  and  a  life  of  bliss 
To  those  who  sleep  in  Jesus ;  that  the  word 
Of  God's  eternal  truth  could  ne'er  deceive 
The  trusting  soul,  that  kept  His  holy  law 
Obediently,  and  His  appointed  time, 
With  patience  waited. 


THE   OLD   MAN.  243 

"  Oh  !  I'll  wait  His  time, 
And  try  to  do  his  will,  if  I  may  hope 
After  this  body  dies,  to  rise  again, 
And  live  once  more,  with  Mother." 

So,  he  turn'd 
From  that  damp  mound,  with  such  a  piteous  look 
Of  soul  subdued  and  utter  loneliness, 
As  haunted  memory,  like  a  troubled  dream. 

Months  fled ;  and  when  again  with  traveller's  haste 
I  pass'd  that  village,  I  inquired  for  him, 
And  one  who  knew  him,  told  me,  how  he  sought 
That  blessed  Book,  which  teacheth,  that  the  dead 
Shall  rise  again,  and  o'er  its  pages  hung, 
Each  leisure  moment,  with  a  wondering  love, 
Until  he  learned  of  Jesus,  and  laid  down 
All  sorrow  at  his  feet. 

And  then  there  came 
A  fearful  sickness,  and  in  many  a  cot 
Were  children  dead,  and  he  grew  ill,  and  bore 
His  pain  without  complaint,  and  meekly  died, 
And  went  to  join  the  mother  that  he  loved. 


THE  OLD  MAN. 


Why  gaze  ye  on  my  hoary  hair, 
Ye  children  young  and  gay! 

Your  locks,  beneath  the  blast  of  care, 
Will  bleach  as  white  as  they. 


244  the  boy's  book.  '4 

I  had  a  mother  once,  like  you, 

Who  o'er  my  pillow  hung, 
Kiss'd  from  my  cheek  the  briny  dew, 

And  taught  my  faltering  tongue. 

She,  when  the  nightly  couch  was  spread, 
Would  bow  my  infant  knee, 

And  lay  her  soft  hand  on  my  head, 
And  bending,  pray  for  me. 

But  then  there  came  a  fearful  day, 

I  sought  my  mother's  bed  ; 
Harsh  voices  warn'd  me  thence  away, 

And  told  me  she  was  dead. 

I  pluck'd  a  fair  white  rose,  and  stole 

To  lay  it  by  her  side  ; 
Yet,  ah,  strange  sleep  enchain'd  her  soul, 

For  no  fond  voice  replied. 

That  eve  I  knelt  me  down  in  wo, 

To  say  a  lonely  prayer  ; 
And  still  my  temples  seem'd  to  glow, 

As  if  that  hand  was  there. 

Years  fled,  and  left  me  childhood's  joy, 
Gay  sports,  and  pastimes  dear  ; 

I  rose,  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 
Who  scorn'd  the  curb  of  fear. 

Fierce  passions  shook  me  like  a  reed  ; 

But  ere,  at  night  I  slept, 
That  soft  hand  made  my  bosom  bleed, 

And  down  I  fell,  and  wept. 


THE  OLD  MAN.  245 

Youth  came — the  props  of  virtue  reel'd ; 

Yet  still,  at  day's  decline, 
A  marble  touch  my  brow  congeal'd — 

Blest  mother,  was  it  thine  1 

In  foreign  lands  I've  travell'd  wide, 

My  full  pulse  bounding  high  ; 
Vice  spread  her  meshes  at  my  side, 

And  pleasure  lur'd  my  eye. 

Even  then,  that  hand,  so  soft  and  cold, 

Maintain'd  its  mystic  sway, 
As  when  amid  my  curls  of  gold, 

With  gentle  force  it  lay 

And  with  it  sigh'd  a  voice  of  care, 

As  from  the  lowly  sod, 
"  My  son,  my  only  one,  beware  ! 

Sin  not  against  thy  God." 

Ye  think,  perchance  that  age  hath  stole 

My  kindly  warmth  away, 
And  dimm'd  the  tablet  of  the  soul  ; 

Yet  when  in  manhood's  sway, 

This  brow  the  plumed  helm  display'd, 

That  awes  the  warrior  throng, 
Or  beauty's  thrilling  fingers  stray'd, 

My  clustering  locks  among, 

That  hallow'd  touch  was  ne'er  forgot ; 

And  now,  though  time  hath  set 
His  seal  of  frost  that  melteth  not, 

My  temples  feel  it  yet. 


THE  BOY'S   BOOK. 

And  if  I  e'er  in  heaven  appear, 

A  mother's  holy  prayer — 
A  mother's  hand  and  tender  tear 
Still  pointing  to  a  Saviour  dear, 
Have  led  the  wanderer  there. 


XXOSE  OF  LIFE. 

Chill'd  by  the  piercing  blast, 
Or  faint  with  vertic  heat, 

The  weary  labourer  hails  the  night, 
And  finds  its  slumber  sweet : 

While  they  whom  idle  years, 

Of  luxury  impair, 
Toss  on  the  reckless  couch,  or  meet 

The  dream  of  terror  there. 

The  rich  man  moves  in  pomp, 
To  him  the  world  is  dear, 

And  every  treasure  twists  a  tie, 
To  bind  him  stronger  here  : 

But  he  whose  purest  gold, 
Is  in  the  conscience  stor'd, 

Is  richer  at  the  hour  of  death, 
Than  with  the  miser's  hoard. 

When  this  short  day  of  life, 
With  all  its  work  is  done, 

The  faithful  servant  of  his  God, 
Doth  hail  the  setting  sun ; 


CLOSE  GF  LIF&  247 

But  they  who  waste  their  breath, 

Dread  the  accusing  tomb, 
And  the  time-killer  flies  from  death, 

As  from  a  murderer's  doom. 

So  give  us,  Lord,  to  find, 

When  earth  shall  pass  awayy 
That  Sabbath-evening  of  the  mind, 

Which  crowns  a  well-spent  day, 

That  entering  to  thy  rest, 

Where  toils  and  cares  are  orerT 
We,  with  the  myriads  of  the  biesa'd,  \ 

May  praise  Thee,  evermore. 


THE    END. 


NOTICES  OP  THE  "  GIRL'S  READING  BOOK." 


From  the  "  Southern  Churchman" — Richmond. 
"  The  simple  statement  of  the  title  of  this  work,  the  name 
of  the  author,  and  the  number  of  editions  through  which  it 
has  passed,  is  as  high  a  recommendation  of  it  as  can  well  be 
given.  We  will  merely  express  a  wish  for  the  benefit  of  all 
our  schools  for  young  ladies,  that  this  book  may  be  adopted 
as  one  of  the  most  useful,  the  purest,  and  the  best  for  which 
it  was  written." 

From  the  "  Knickerbocker." 
"  We  have  read  the  •' Girl's  Reading  Book,  in  Prose 
and  Poetry,"  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Sigourney,  with  un- 
alloyed gratification.  It  is  imbued  with  those  delightful  in- 
culcations for  which  that  author's  writings  are  distinguished, 
and  clothed  with  the  felicitous  graces  of  style  which  are  ever 
the  characteristics  of  her  productions.  This  book  should  be 
in  the  hands  of  every  school-girl  in  the  United  States." 

From  the  "  Richmond  Compiler." 
"  This  interesting  work  from  the  pen  of  the  beloved 
authoress,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  contains  thirty  reading  lessons 
in  prose  and  the  same  number  in  poetry.  It  is  a  work  we 
are  glad  to  see,  and  she  has  become  her  country's  benefactor 
by  sending  it  forth,  while  she  has  made  an  enduring  addition 
to  her  fame." 

From  the  "  New.  York  American." 
"  Mrs.  Sigourney  has  given  the  public  a  delightful  little 
book,  which  we  prefer  to  all  her  other  published  writings. 
Its  articles  are  all  original — all  the  work  of  her  own  pen — 
and  all  written  with  a  beautiful  simplicity,  suited  to  the 
persons  for  whom  the  work  is  designed.  The  quality  of 
simplicity  it  is  which  gives  the  principal  grace  to  these  com- 
positions. We  looked,  indeed,  to  find  great  warmth  and 
rectitude  of  feeling,  a  pure  and  kindly  morality,  and  a  poetic 
imagination,  and  we  have  found  them.  But  we  hardly  ex- 
pected to  see  the  author's  superior  talents  performing  this 
task  with  such  perfect  ease,  without  any  attempt  at  display : 
in  short,  with  such  perfect  devotedness  to  the  task  before 
them.  We  hope  she  will  find  this  laudable  exertion  of  her 
powers  well  rewarded  by  the  reception  this  work  meets  with 
the  public." 

1 


NOTICES  OF  THE  "  BOY'S  BOOK. 


From  the  "  United  States  Gazette" — Philadelphia. 
"  The  Boy's  Book"  has  been  prepared  by  Mrs.  Sigourney- 
with  all  the  care  which  her  maternal  feelings  could  suggest 
for  such  a  work,  and  with  the  assistance  of  all  those  powers 
to  which  the  world  is  now  doing  homage.  We  are  gratified 
to  have  occasion  to  notice,  from  such  a  source,  a  book  thus 
dedicated,  and  the  success  which  has  attended  it,  is  proof  of 
its  adaptation  to  the  purpose  which  it  has  in.  view.  The  les- 
sons are  instructive  and  interesting  to  the  young.  And 
Mrs.  Sigourney  has  by  this  work,  and  a  corresponding  volume, 
entitled  the  "  Girl's  Reading  Book,"  added  largely  to  the 
claims  which  she  already  possessed  upon  the  gratitude  and 
respect  of  the  nation  at  large." 

From  the  "  Boston  Weekly-  Magazine? 
"  "We  are  glad  to  see  the  abilities  and  fine  taste  of  Mrs. 
Sigourney  employed  in  the  preparation  of  books  for  the  use 
of  the  young.  Their  moral  and  literary  welfare  may  be 
safely  entrusted  in  her  hands.  This  volume  is  well  worthy 
of  introduction  into  the  schools  of  our  country,  as  while  the 
slyle  is  pure  and  the  sentiments  elevated,  it  is  replete  with 
interest  and  useful  information.  The  same  publishers  have 
issued  the  "  Girl's  Reading  Book."  Ws  commend  them 
to  the  favorable  notice  of  instructors  and  parents." 

From  "  Ziort's  Watchman." 
"  This  book  is  beautifully  printed,  and  contains  most  ex- 
cellent reading  matter,  entirely  from  the  pen  of  the  accom- 
plished authoress.  Her  name,  alone,  would  be  sufficient  to 
recommend  it  to  the  favorable  notice  of  the  public,  and  when 
once  examined  it  cannot  but  be  extensively  patronized.  And 
then  it  should  be  added,  that  it  is  published  by  Mr.  Taylor, 
than  whom,  perhaps,  there  is  not  a  man  among  us  more  com- 
petent to  judge  of  the  merits  of  a  work  written  for  educa- 
tional purposes." 

From  the  "  Corsair." 

"  We  cannot  sufficiently  admire  the  elevated  motives  that 

have  prompted  the  first  poetess  in  our  country  to  devote  her 

talents  and  time  to  write  a  book  for  schools.     Such  a  work 

commends  itself  to  every  parent  and  to  every  philanthropist >" 

2 


From  the  "  Christian  Watchman" — Boston.  ^ 
•  "  In  chasteness,  purity  of  style,  and  elevation  of  thought, 
it  is  a  fine  model.  Lessens  of  piety  and  virtue,  and  manly 
sentiment,  are  intermingled  in  every  page  with  alluring  ease 
and  captivating  incident.  The  influence  of  such  a  book  as 
this  must  be  very  great,  in  moulding  the  minds  of  those  who 
shall  be  favored  with  its  perusal." 

From  the  "  Michigan  Journal." 

"  No  higher  recommendation  of  this  work  can  be  given  # 
than  the  name  of  its  accomplished  author.    We  should  rejoice  ! 
to  see  it  in  the  hands  of  every  boy  in  this  State.     Unless  en-  | 
tirely  lost — dead  to  every  noble  and  generous  sentiment  of  ; 
our  common   nature — no   child — no  young  man  even — can  i 
read  this  book  without  the  highest  degree  of  both  pleasure 
and  profit.     We  envy  not  the  individual  who  can  read  it 
without    being    instructed,    softened,    delighted.       Let   such 
works  be  introduced  into  all  our  families  and  schools,  and  we 
shall  hear  no  more  complaints  of  inattention  to  books — of 
the  want  of  a  taste  for  reading.     We  will  guarantee,  that 
every  child  who  is  of  sufficient  age  to  understand  its  lan- 
guage, and  who  has  not  been  brutalised  and  ruined  by  mis- 
management will  read  this  work  of  Mrs.  Sigourney's  with 
avidity." 

From  the  "  Lady's  Companion." 

,c  We  know  how  scarce  are  valuable  school  books — those 
that  combine  instruction  in  language  and  elocution  with 
sound  mental  aliment,  suited  to  the  comprehension  of  young 
minds.  Desultory  selections  often  fail  of  this  end ;  but  Mrs. 
Sigourney  has  here  presented  the  public  with  a  reading  book, 
written  expressly  for  this  object,  '  containing  lessons  of  repub- 
lican simplicity,  the  value  of  time,  the  rewards  of  virtue,  the 
duties  of  life,'  all  beautiful,  as  we  might  expect  from  such  a 
writer." 


From  the  "  Knickerbocker." 
"  Every  boy  should  have  this  book." 

From  tJie  "  Southern  Churchman." — Richmond. 
"  In  this  age  of  lax  sentiment  and  lax  example,  what  pa- 
rent is  there,  who  can  well  satisfy  his  conscience  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duty  to  his  sons,  without  placing  in  their  hands, 
as  soon  as  they  can  read,  a  volume  like  the  one  before  us, 
which  will  not  only  please,  but  will  inculcate  good  morals  on 
Christian  principles,  regulate  the  passions,  improve  the  man- 
ners, form  the  taste,  and  inspire  the  mind  with  a  serious 
3 


regard  Tor  the  truths  of  the  Bible  and  the  everlasting  interests 
of  the  soul,  and  this  has  been  done  by  Mrs.  Sigourney, 
not  in  a  dry  and  scholastic  style,  but  in  a  manner  the  most 
happy  and  attractive." 

From  the   "  Richmond  Compiler." 

"  This  is  another  valuable  volume  to  our  country,  from  the 
pen  of  Mrs.  Sigourney.  Its  lessons  are  inculcated  in  a 
manner  happily  adapted  to  the  youthful  mind  for  which  they 
are  intended,  and  will  afford  them  deep  interest  as  well  as 
instruction." 

From  the   "  Courant." — Hartford. 
The  "Boy's  Book;"  by  Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney. 

It  is  too  late  to  speak  highly  of  the  prose  or  poetry  of  Mrs. 
Sigourney  and  claim  originality ;  for  her  writings  have  been 
eulogized  by  the  critics  beyond  the  Atlantic,  long  ago.  But 
this  work,  like  the  "  Girl's  Reading  Book,"  is  to  be  treated 
of  not  as  a  specimen  of  splendid  composition,  (as  it  is,)  but  as 
a  class  book  for  American  schools.  Most  of  our  reading 
books  are  printed  poorly — on  cheap  paper,  in  small  type — as 
if  to  tempt  the  scholar  to  dispose  of  it  as  soon  as  possible. 
This  appears  on  fine  white  paper,  in  the  best  type.  The 
subjects  selected — the  vivacity  and  familiarity  of  the  narra- 
tives, essays,  biographies,  and  discussions — the  appropriate 
moral  inferences  often  drawn,  and  the  chasteness  preserved 
throughout  the  work,  are  recommendations  that  no  good 
teacher  will  fail  to  notice  and  admire.  How  excellent  the 
idea  that  a  reading  book  should  be  fraught  with  instruction 
on  those  subjects  that  are  familiar  to  the  minds  of  youth. 
The  lessons  read  again  and  again  in  the  school  room  are 
never  forgotten.  What  man  cannot  repeat  the  pieces  he  read 
when  a  boy  at  school  from  beginning  to  end,  and  tell  every 
comma  and  period  and  caption  in  the  book  7  This  work 
carries  out,  in  the  important  lessons  taught,  the  idea  just 
noticed.  For  instance,  in  i:  Taking  Food,"  we  find  directions 
given  that  cannot  fail  of  doing  good  to  the  reader.  A  boy 
under  a  good  teacher  will  never  forget  such  a  sentence  as 
this.  "  It  is  ungrateful  to  disarrange  the  mechanism"  (of  the 
body)  "  that  does  so  much  for  us.  It  is  dangerous  to  persist 
in  offending  the  stomach,  for  it  revenges  itself  through  the 
nerves.  They,  are  its  fast  friends, — always  at  its  command, 
and  able  to  inflict  varied  and  terrible  pain."  Nor  this,  on 
another  subject,  "  Cruelty  to  Animals  is  disgraceful  and 
sinful.  If  I  see  even  a  young  child,  pull  off  the  wings  of  an 
insect,  or  take  pains  to  set  his  foot  upon  a  worm,  I  know 
that  he  has  not  been  well  instructed,  or  else  that  there  is 
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something  wrong  and  wicked  in  his  heart."  In  "  The  Only 
Son,"  (a  beautiful  story)  is  this  remark,  in  giving  the  history 
of  Frank  Wilson,  "  The  first  wrong  step  was  to  neglect  his 
lessons  and  waste  his  time.  His  room-mate  taught  him  to 
laugh  at  the  censures  that  followed,  and  to  ridicule-  in  secret, 
the  teachers  whom  he  should  have  loved."  Hear  the  closing 
remark  of  this  history,  "Let  every  boy  dread  the  first  advances 
of  vice,  for  the  descent  is  swift,  like  the  swollen  and  head- 
long torrent,  sweeping  every  landmark  away."  So  in  "  Good 
Manners,"  "  Wealth,"  "  Trees,"  the  "  Grey  Cottage,"  and 
"  The  Law,"  are  taught  lessons  in  a  lovely  way,  that  every 
reader  will  not  only  learn,  but  feel  and  observe.  ,Tbe  book 
is  exceedingly  valuable  to  all  who  love  literature  5  but  above 
all,  it  accomplishes  its  design  admirably.  It  is  the  best  work 
in  the  English  language  for  a  reading  book  for  boys  under 
twelve  years  of  age.  In  it  is  a  full  demonstration  that  the 
author  has  been  a  worthy  and  successful  teacher,  and  that 
she  knows  well  the  duties,  trials,  and  pleasures  of  a  faithful 
teacher's  life.  America  should  adopt  it  as  a  "  Boy's  Book," 
and  not  a  County  or  State,  or  New  England  only. 

From  "  The  Friend." — Philadelphia. 
We  have  had  placed  in  our  hands  for  examination  a  volume 
of  recent  publication  from  the  American  press,  entitled  "  The 
Boy's  Book,"  the  production  of  Lydia  H.  Sigourney,  ex- 
tensively known  and  admired  as  a  writer  of  considerable 
eminence  both  of  poetry  and  prose.  The  volume  under 
notice  consists  of  many  chapters  on  a  variety  of  topics,  prose 
and  poetical,  the  invariable  tendency  of  which  is  the  inculca- 
tion of  moral  and  pious  sentiments,  and  to  encourage  the 
expansion  of  liberal,  gentle,  and  benevolent  affections.  Of 
the  prose  department  in  particular,  we  were  much  pleased 
with  its  style  of  composition ;  the  language  is  simple  in  struc- 
ture, yet  clear,  flowing,  and  graceful — equally  removed  on 
the  one  hand  from  the  fastidiously  affected  and  ambitious 
strain  so  prevalent  in  these  days,  and  from  puerility,  dulness, 
and  insipidity  on  the  other.  In  short,  we  consider  it  well 
adapted  for  the  end  proposed,  its  introduction  as  a  class  book 
in  schools  for  boys  of  from  eight  to  twelve  years,  and  would 
be  glad  to  hear  of  its  general  adoption  as  such.  The  tenor 
of  the  sentiments  taught,  approaches  very  nearly  to  the  views 
of  Friends  in  relation  to  the  pacific  nature  of  the  gospel  dis- 
pensation, yet  in  this  regard,  and  in  some  other  respects,  a 
few  modifications  would  be  requisite  to  render  the  volume  un- 
exceptionable as  a  class  book  in  Friends'  schools. ' 
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